


Above Water

by thayde



Category: Dominion (TV)
Genre: Alex and Ethan are Bros, Dominion, Ethan is the guy who asked Michael if angels could sweat, Ethan is totally the stiles of this fandom, Ethriel, Fanart, M/M, Malex, Starts with Alex's backstory and will move through present episodes, eventual slash, will be multichaptered
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-02-07 19:50:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1911612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thayde/pseuds/thayde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alex has been drowning his entire life.  It's as though he's been swimming towards land all these years, just trying to stay afloat long enough to break shore.</p>
<p>STORY IS BEING ILLUSTRATED!  Art is now up at thayde-said@tumblr.com! </p>
<p>All chapters now beta'd by Callay and Zuq!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Alex has been drowning his entire life. It's as though he's been swimming towards land all these years, just trying to stay afloat long enough to break shore.

When he was little, he had this recurring nightmare. In the dream, he and Jeep would be at the house they would sometimes escape to to play basketball, or shoot the tree. Out of nowhere, these terrifying silhouettes would scuttle crablike over the roof and dive at them with gaping maws and bloody teeth. 

Alex would wake up gasping. 

His father would come into his room and curl up on the bed with him, and tell him not to worry. He wasn't going anywhere. 

**And Alex would breathe easy again.**

\-------------

When Alex is ten, his nightmare becomes horrifyingly real. 

The attack at the house comes suddenly, and is over just as quickly. His father's call for the medkit stalls his breath, and the eight-ball waiting for him on the other side of the door steals it completely. 

With the angel dead on the floor, and Alex is tucked under Jeep's bloodied arms, his father promises to never leave him. He clings to his father in desperate relief and believes his vow to be unbreakable. 

**Alex could breathe again.**

\-------------

When Alex is eleven, Jeep breaks the only promise he ever made to his son.

**Alex chokes on the rising water.**

\-------------

At twelve, he's barely getting by on what others can spare. He's lucky if he eats something once every other day, and as a V1, there's nowhere safe to sleep. Hands grabbing him (where no adult should) teach him to run through the hidden spaces of Vega. The older kids, twisted by their situation, hold him down when they manage to catch him and teach him what it means to fight dirty. 

Of all these lessons, though, it's Ethan who provides the one of most service.

Two older boys managed to trap Alex in a blind alley when he was careless, and demanded services he was unwilling to render. Before they could lay a hand on him, another kid with dark hair and a bright smile joined the quarrel, and the two of them had his attackers running for the hills in seconds. He introduced himself as Ethan, that he heard Alex knew a way into the V3 sector, and could he please show him where? That day Alex gained a friend and a powerful protector.

Alex learns the value of being _useful_.

A year later, he knows all the tricks and more secret roads than any before him. At thirteen, he is integral to the smuggling networks and so useful to the V1 community he's untouchable.

**The waves are picking up, but Alex has learned the timing for catching the odd lungful of air.**

\-------------

Alex is fourteen now and has climbed to the top of the orphan food chain. He knows where to get food when he needs it, and knows where to sleep without fear (mostly). Ethan always has his back, and vice versa, and they both found the rarest commodity: a loyal friend. It's the richest he's been since before…since Before.

One day, he comes across an eleven-year-old girl with sweet braids tied off by ribbons and a fresh membership into the V1 club. She's looks thin and haggard, and so very tired. Her name is Ari; she's lucky to eat something every other day, and she's too terrified to sleep (rightfully so), and all Alex sees in her face are his own eyes staring back. He looks around for the first time in years, and remembers there are children who need help, just as he did.

Alex ventures outside the city walls for the first time since Jeep died. The guards are so busy watching the skies that they don't pay attention to the ground. He makes his way to the distant strip by skirting piles of rubble and staying off the roads. Night falls and he's holed up, shivering, in some rusted, overturned car to wait out the dark, and the morning finds him scavenging the demolished hotels. He manages to return to Vega by the next evening, victorious. Ethan helps him hock the loot, buying much needed rations, medicines, and clothing. This becomes a regular thing, and six months later, Alex is the main source of provisions for the orphans of Vega. 

**He's still trying to swim, but it's harder to stay afloat with so many people on his back.**

\-------------

At fifteen, Alex learns about loss. He already knew it from Before, but this is an entirely different beast.

He finds Ari's bruised and naked body in a dumpster, her adorable braids filthy and wide eyes vacant. Cause of death is painfully obvious. After puking his guts up all over the concrete, he grabs Ethan to help him clean and clothe the body because he _cannot_ bear this alone. They gather the few who were close to her and send her off amidst a pyre of burning tables and chairs in some nameless alley. When the Blues come to track down the spiraling fumes, it's all Ethan can do to drag Alex away.

The funeral smoke curls bitter in the back of his mouth because dead orphans don't warrant an investigation. All they get is a funeral that burns them with other people's garbage.

Everyone knows the sick fuck who did it. No one will touch him because the bastard is a V2 soldier and he trades to them the really good stuff he steals from various Tops. The smugglers find him _useful_ enough to look the other way. They traded a little girl for polo cologne and scotch, and Alex is sick to his stomach for the hate of them all. He’s doesn't eat very much, and won't take his eyes from the remaining kids he tries so hard to protect.

Ethan watches on as he slowly self-destructs with carelessness born of exhaustion and takes matters into his own hands. Killing a man is easier than he thought it would be, as he later tells Alex. All it takes in the end is slipping a long needle between the ribs as he passes by on the street. Ethan is far out of sight when his victim collapses.

Ethan, his dearest friend and protector, takes blood on his hands so Alex wouldn't have to. Alex learns what _sacrifice_ is when he holds Ethan through his new nightmares. He learns _'brother'_ when Ethan says he'd do it the same all over again, so long as it spared Alex. 

**He's swimming hard, and he sinks every now and then from the weight of all those depending on him, but Ethan grabs his arm and starts paddling. They just manage to keep each other above water.**

\-------------

When Ethan and Alex turn sixteen, there's a dramatic influx of V1s. New Delphi must have gone _nuts_ because the ranks of Alex's orphans double in number from the runners who've sought asylum in Vega. There's not enough to go around and the Tops won't spare additional rations to the lowest caste, despite their growing population. It's like he's twelve again, helpless and overwhelmed, and he thinks he might cry.

Alex can only carry so much from his scavenging trips. Ethan can't come with him as they're both unwilling to leave their kids unsupervised after Ari, so they search for another solution. The obvious answer is a car; it carries more and would cut travel time in half, but there aren't any that Alex can find abandoned on the roads. 

That only leaves one place to get it.

When he tells Ethan he's enlisting as a soldier, and not to worry because he'll get them the four-wheel access they need, Ethan just flashes a grin like sunshine and asks him when _they_ should go sign up. He does cry then. 

**More hands are pulling at them than ever before, but they somehow manage to keep swimming.**

\-------------

To be an enlisted soldier, well, it _sucks_. But they've never had more rations to their name, and the medical care makes it worth it. They can't afford to change their diet--every bit extra goes to their anti-starvation fund for orphans--so they train and, eventually, do their jobs on the morning meal alone. They've already conditioned their stomachs out of hunger, anyway. 

Alex is quick to figure the few ways a car can leave undetected, and soon he's making supply runs again. If the children get sick or injured, the two will rough each other up enough to warrant a trip to the infirmary where they can swipe some meds. 

The worst part, though, took them both by surprise. Being assigned different bunk units meant sleeping alone, something neither had done since they met, while surrounded by strangers. Ethan would wake up the whole dorm when he cried out in his sleep, and Alex would stumble over a mile of boots and bags to reach him. After a couple of sleepless weeks, it became an unspoken rule to ignore it if one of their bunks was empty; they would invariably be found curled around one another across the room. 

Things aren't really _good_ , but the kids aren't starving on their watch anymore, so it's _good enough_ to get by.

**Ethan and Alex just barely have their noses above water, but they think they see land in the distance.**

\-----------

They are seventeen when things start to settle into a routine, so of course something has to fall apart. The smugglers figure out just _who_ knocked off their best high-end supplier almost two years after the fact. Ethan comes back from sneaking provisions to the children with three cracked ribs, blackened eyes, and bruises coating his chest like paint. At the sight, Alex grips the cool metal of his service pistol and fights against Ethan’s attempt to pry it away from his fingers. Ethan is unsuccessful until he reveals the rest of the threat.

"If we don't find them another contact, they say they won't trade to the kids or let them pass freely in their areas anymore." 

He and Alex sit down together after that and figure out how to be thieves; they get clever real quick about snatching trim from the Tops, and worry themselves sick over getting caught. The next morning, Ethan snags his first bit of pretty from the dresser of an oblivious politician: a blue bottle of cologne with a ridiculous picture of a club-bearing man riding a horse. On Alex's next run, he leaves behind two cans of pineapples they really need in order to fit a bottle of merlot into his jeep. 

Things just go downhill from there. With this new demand for supplies, and the many commitments for their time, they can barely provide themselves and their merry band of homeless kids with the necessities of life. All the risks they now take have no reward, and are costing them more than ever. The only break they get are some of the oldest kids finding work that raised them to V2; some enlist, and some get lucky with the service industry, and it's fewer mouths to feed. 

They manage to stretch the supplies for now, but something's going to give soon.

**The water is churning, and they've been swept back up into a harsh current. The fear of drowning has crept back into Alex's lungs, and all he and Ethan can do is hold on tight. They don't glimpse land for a long time after that.**

\-------------

This time, it's Alex who causes the problem. He and Ethan have so tightly entwined their lives together that every choice they make effects them _both_. Even though he hates himself for dragging trouble to Ethan's doorstep, he'd do it all over again the same.

He's having to scout further down the strip these days to find anything of use. In the penthouse of the Monte Carlo Resort, Alex is bagging a vial of Chanel perfume and the lavender soap. Exiting the bathroom, he's about to raid the liquor cabinet when he hears a quiet gasp from near the closet.

Drawing his service pistol, he slowly approaches the door. The closer he gets, the more breathing he can hear. Ripping the door open, he is met with a terrified shriek and the biggest blue eyes he's ever seen before. Crouched in the corner, hugging her knees, is a little blonde girl as pale as the moon and so obviously malnourished. Alex puts his gun away and coaxes her from her bolthole. She says her name is Bixby; that her parents were killed by eight-balls, and he wonders just how fucked up is New Delphi to have all these people fleeing to _Vega_ of all places. She's been hiding here alone for a week, and when she wraps her sparrow arms around his neck, he knows he's not leaving her behind. 

He can fit the Chanel perfume and a small bottle of vodka into his pockets, but there won't be room for more now that he's found another kid. This is the last time Alex will be able to sneak out for the next three weeks, and it's not going to be enough to feed his orphans this month. 

Alex can't meet Ethan's eyes when he brings home a Bixby instead of a good haul. But Ethan just flicks him between his eyes and cracks a joke about Alex always bringing home strays, and it's about time he found Ethan a pet cat anyway. 

Bixby simply _adores_ Ethan after that.

Midnight finds Alex and Ethan sitting forlornly at the base of their shared lockers, thighs and shoulders pressed together. They've counted out their stash of rations, estimated the coming take from the smugglers network, and the best they can do is stretch it out two weeks, _maybe_ three if they get lucky. 

They've been riding the edge for too long. At eighteen years of age, the entire orphan population of Vega relies on the two of them for survival because _nobody else is paying attention_ , and the end of the line is coming fast.

"We'll just have to figure something out…"

**They take a deep breath as the water slowly closes over their heads, and they start to sink together.**

\-------------

This time, it's Ethan who fixes the problem. Three days later, he comes to Alex with two words on his lips: _Archangel Corps_. 

A limited number of slots have opened, and all applicants are welcome. AACorps soldiers receive additional rations on top of the V2 standards, basic medical training and first response medkits, and, best of all, they guard the V5s and V6s. Not only would they get access to better junk to trade (and more of it), but the advanced first aid could allow them to treat most of their orphan's basic ailments instead of paying for a doctor. 

Ethan and Alex show up together, and are put through their paces like show dogs. They hold their own in the combat simulations and excel at marksmanship, but the physical examination is a problem. They've been subsisting on as little as possible for a long time, and it shows. The endurance test kills them, and their muscle mass just can't compete with the others who eat three meals a day. 

Neither of them are optimistic about their chances.

Stretched out next to a slumbering Ethan, Alex stares at the underside of the top bunk, and ponders their situation. As isolated as they've kept themselves, no one knows them well enough to cover Alex's job for him. If he skips his shift to make a supply run, he runs the risk of reassignment. They can't afford to lose his rations if Alex gets himself washed back to V1. But if his children are starving, there may not be a choice. 

Alex doesn't sleep that night, or the next.

Two days after their screening, Alex returns to his bunk and finds a thick envelope waiting for him. Stark relief flows through him at the sight of "Congratulations on your acceptance". There's a stack of paper inside for him to sign and return, but he wants to tell Ethan first. He rushes over to the other's bed and is greeted by the inconceivable: Alex was in, but Ethan was _not_. 

Ethan tells him to join anyway—“It's the right thing to do, Alex", “We need the supplies, Alex", and “It's the best chance for you, Alex" is the gist of it. Alex's reply? "Fuck the Archangel, he's too stupid to live."

Alex lets Bixby draw whatever cartoon shit she wants all over the contract and returns to sender. When Ethan can only give Bixby a handful of almonds, he looks like he might cry. Later that night he does cry to Alex, and berates himself for not being _good_ enough for AACorps, and hates how thankful he is that Alex is staying with him. Alex just tells him to stop acting "dumb as an archangel", because they're brothers and there is no Alex without Ethan. 

**_EthanandAlex_ are trying to hold their breath long enough to swim back to the surface, but it seems so very far away.**

\-------------

Another two days, and Alex finds another envelope. It's the same congratulatory letter and contract and he doesn't quite know what to make of that. He gives it to Bixby again for scribbling, and even adds his own little cartoon Michael because he's feeling passive aggressive. Returns to sender, and Alex washes his hands of it.

Except there's _another one_ the next day. 

They spend the whole week drawing whatever pops into their heads--even Ethan starts joining in--and sending that day's contract back into the ether. All in all, it's a good bonding exercise for the three of them, and good times can be few and far between. 

Which is why Alex, when approached by the archangel himself, looks into that cold face for the first time and thinks, 'totally worth it.’

"Alex Lannon, you have been accepted into Archangel Core, and yet I am informed you have yet to return your contract." Michael doesn't bother with introductions--it's obvious who he is. 

Which is why Alex has to wonder, "Is it normal for you to follow up on wayward paperwork?" 

Michael's expression turns sharp. "I take a personal interest in all my soldiers."

"That's…attentive of you, sir. I'm sorry that your trip down here was wasted, but I have turned down the offer." The archangel blinks, and slowly cants his head to the right in consideration.

"You are aware this assignment warrants you greater privileges?" And that hits too close to home for Alex. He _knows_ what he's turning down, and what it'll mean for his kids. Alex also knows that Michael can't realize what a jab that is, but he still resents him for it a little.

"Yes, sir, _I am aware_." If Michael is bothered by his frosty tone, it doesn't show.

"Then why do you not wish to join?" Alex hesitates a moment, and then takes a chance.

"My friend Ethan was rejected." Alex shrugs. "I'm not going anywhere without him." The archangel stares at him for a long moment, nods, and then walks away. He doesn't bother with farewell.

The end of Alex's shift brings him another copy of the contract, but this time, Ethan has one as well. They pack their bags and sign on the dotted line, and wonder what the hell just happened. Alex still draws his cartoon Michael with squiggly wings right in the middle of the paper, just because. 

**_AlexandEthan_ break the surface and can finally breathe again.**


	2. Chapter 2

Archangel Core is intimidating, to say the least. It's their first day of training, and every man jack of them is twice their size with muscles out to _here_. They all look at Alex and Ethan with skeptical eyes. In fact, the _only_ person they're taller than (by like _two inches_ ) is the only girl there. Some CO may be moderating the training, but Michael is lurking in the background, observing the line of his new recruits. Alex watches his eyes move down the line, and bites his lip when he sees the noticeable dip as the archangel's gaze reaches the three of them.

The first day of training is a match day. To start, two members spar, and the winner takes on the next challenger until they themselves are defeated. It's an hour before their turns come up and Ethan is the first of them to fight. He loses his only match, but he sets the record for the _longest_ spar. Never will he have the built to be truly strong, but his lithe form has made him the quickest person Alex has ever met.

When it's Alex's turn, he viciously wipes the floor with the jerk who sucker punched his brother mere minutes ago. In fact, he wins the next several rounds. Alex has learned to fight _mean_ from his time as a V1. He's spent his whole life fighting guys bigger than him, and he pulls out every nasty move he knows.

Alex is the reigning champ when the girl steps onto the mat. She's got this challenging look in her eye, just _daring_ him to go easy on her. Alex knows better. When he bloodies her nose in the first two seconds, she looks _pleased_ and tosses him a wicked grin. After that, she royally kicks his butt, because Noma? Turns out she's _badass_. Once she's put him on the ground, he laughs and high fives her, much to her bemusement. 

Ethan and Alex watch her clean house for the rest of the day with shit eating grins, and Noma is flattered. She's the first person outside of their orphans to breach their walls. 

That night, they deliver food to their kids and Alex almost has a stroke. The alley triad where he's made a home for his orphans is covered in sketches. Bixby must have told everyone about her adventures in defacing official paperwork to "stick it to the man", because suddenly, his gaggle of adorable rugrats have turned into graffiti delinquents _overnight_. Which is just terrific.

And Ethan's no help at all because he finds the whole thing fucking _charming_.

The two of them can't spare the extra rations allotted AACorps due to the rigorous nature of their training, but they _do_ trade away some strong antibiotics from their new medkits. It's enough to keep their charges fed through the transfer period. All in all, it's a rare win for them. So if Alex adds his cartoon Michael to the wall, it's no one's business but his.

Today he's _earned_ it. 

\-------------

Today he's _fucked_. 

What was supposed to be Blade Combat 101 all this week has been switched with the advanced first aid seminar. They'd both hocked one of their bottles of antibiotics and didn't have time to hunt down replacements. Once they've been split into small groups, Alex quickly slips his remaining bottle into Ethan's kit so that he, at least, would have a full set. Noma raises an eyebrow, but thankfully, she says nothing.

"Alex, _no_ \--" Ethan hisses, but Alex just shushes him when their instructing CO walks over to begin teaching. He's a tall, bulky soldier who looks like he could bench press Alex two times over, and his dark mustache and beard lend him a permanent disgruntled look. Senior Officer John notices the missing meds, and orders Alex to stay behind after. He spends the entire lesson shooting daggers with his eyes; it's hate at first sight.

The medical lesson is valuable and over far too quickly for Alex's taste. Ethan throws him a hangdog face as Noma drags him in the opposite direction. CO John leads him to a small, dimly lit room containing a single steel table and chair. Alex is gracelessly shoved into the seat.

John looms over Alex in an attempt at intimidation. "You're not the first soldier to barter their medkit, but I _promise_ this will be the last time you do it." The venom in his voice shouldn't surprise Alex, but it does.

"Sir, there were circumstances--" he tries to explain, but there's nothing doing. John doesn't care to hear it, and it's not like Alex _wasn't_ breaking the law.

"You know what you've done? This is a case of Battleready Failure; a _lashing_ offense." His voice takes on a lower pitch, and he leans in close, "I know your type. Untouchables who wormed their way above their proper place…" Echoing footsteps outside the door cut off the rest of his litany, and Alex's heart raises at the sight of Michael's silhouette. John straightens to attention.

"Archangel, how can I be of service?" Alex arches a brow. _What a weasel._

"What has this man done?" Hope swells in Alex's chest. Perhaps Michael will step in considering his reasons-- and he was kind to bring Ethan into the Corps when he asked, after all. 

"Battleready Failure. Lannon sold off part of his medkit for contraband--"

"I did _not_ trade for contraband." Alex cuts in. Michael looks to him.

"Then you did not compromise your equipment?"

"No, I mean _yes_ , but it wasn't like that--"

"This happens a lot with new recruits, Archangel. They'll trade their equipment on pleasure boulevard if they can get away with it." And _what_? Alex is shocked into silence. Food for orphans is not even near the same level as prostitution. Red in the face from anger at such an accusation, Alex is _speechless_. Not once did it cross Alex's mind that _this_ would be the conclusion they'd jump to.

In hindsight, Alex realizes that Michael may have mistook his ire as a guilty flush, but it doesn't ease the resentment that curls up in his chest.

"The rules in place have a purpose. If your equipment is not ready for an emergency, it could cost the lives of your fellow soldiers. Do not let this happen again." Michael nods to John, and leaves without a second glance. John smirks and palms the whip. 

He tries to stay quiet. He'll never tell _anyone_ that three hits was all it took to make him scream.

Ten lashes later, and Alex stumbles gratefully into Ethan's arms. Ethan’s gaze is horrified at the weeping red lines webbing his back.

"What the _fuck_?" Ethan breathes. 

Alex grins depreciatingly. "I don't think our CO likes me much. Or Michael." Helping Alex to the deserted bathroom, Ethan’s mind is maelstrom of helpless anger. He sits them on the floor before a sink and covers his brother's back with cloths soaked in cold water.

"Alex, this isn't _okay_. Feeding orphans isn't a fucking crime against humanity."

"No, but using your medkit to pay for sex is." It takes Ethan a minute to parse out his meaning.

"You're _kidding_ me." Ethan is as surprised as Alex was. Of course they knew about pleasure boulevard--it's impossible for orphans like them not to--it's just that they've always seen it as business as usual. Prostitution, as they've observed it, has never been about the desire for sex; they didn't realize what their endeavors could look like from the outside. 

"I wish I was. Even if I hadn't made a mess of this in front of Michael, our CO does _not_ like 'V1 scum'. If I try to explain again, it'll just look like I'm lying. Besides, now Michael thinks I'm the kind of person to trade my fellow soldier's safety for a one-off. I've no credibility there." And okay, so maybe he feels wretched about this because a little part of him had hoped the Archangel would think well of him. "I don't know,” Alex whispers, chest tight, "I just…I kind of wanted to impress him. Instead, I tripped over my own damn tongue."

Ethan flicks him on his ear, and grins, "Yeah, sometimes you can be _dumber_ than an _archangel_." Alex chuckles at that, and Ethan bumps their shoulders together in affection. "Fuck the Archangel, he's too stupid to live."

**They tell each other it doesn't matter; their little family is still afloat.**

\-------------

Nineteen now, Ethan and Alex are fully active AACorps with assignments to House Riesen. Noma has been allocated with them, which is good, and so has CO John, which is bad. John nurses a vendetta for Alex, which means he also has it in for Ethan by association. Their only break is that there are two older V1s who've climbed up into Michael's regiment, so they aren't his only targets. 

Alex has five long scars across his back from a multitude of punishments, and Ethan has two. They're learning the system still, and it's a painful education, but they're quickly gaining a sundry of questionable skills. In particular, John is pulling at his own hair trying to figure out how Alex manages to sneak a _car_ out of Vega. These miserable interrogations have become frequent enough to cause permanent marks and the questioning attention of his fellow soldiers. Noma pulls Ethan aside one evening, and asks him to convince Alex to file a report to V-Services.

Ethan stares at her blankly. "What's a V-Service?"

As it turns out, there's a help center with the exclusive purpose of settling rank disputes; preventing abuse of power, ensuring rations are distributed correctly, assisting in rank changes, that sort of thing. Neither Ethan nor Alex have heard of this department. Their first day off finds them at the end of a long line of people in a sweaty business office on the good side of town, and it's an eye-opening experience. Standing in the V2 line, they can see a massive crowd surrounding the V1 window on their left, and only three people in the V3 line to their right. There are no windows for V4 and higher. 

Ethan didn't drag Alex here about their overzealous CO--they _have_ been breaking rules left and right, and they're getting away with it more and more lately, anyway. Reporting the unsanctioned interrogations about the stuff John can't yet prove would just draw in troublesome attention where it's very much unwanted. Obviously, they're here for their kids. 

Alex has spent years holding back an entire speech about how wrong it is to starve orphan kids, and that they shouldn't have to grow up so fast in such a terrible situation, and don't you have a _conscience_? He's almost on a roll when the lady behind the counter tells them _of course_ they help with such unfortunate cases in conjunction with donations from the Saviorism Charity.

It's Alex's turn to stare because he's _never_ heard of such a creature. Ethan is wearing his What-The-Fuck face, and looks like a stiff wind could blow him over. This could change _everything_. 

She gives them some information on where they can donate to the cause, and off they go to investigate. Hope is singing in their souls, but a nagging doubt asks them why they'd never benefited from the charity during their own stint of homelessness.

The distribution center turns out to be a pole barn in an out-of-the-way industrial park. Approaching the place as prospective benefactors isn't hard--in fact, Ethan apparently has an undiscovered talent for playing pretend. They're given a tour, some brochures, an eyeful of an official looking clipboard, and even witness four children run up to one of the workers and receive rations once their names were crossed off a list. Everything seems legit.

Except that it isn't, because neither of them have seen any of those kids before. He's not saying that he knows _every single orphan_ in Vega; it's very possible he's missed one or two.

It _isn't_ possible that he's missed _four_.

Later that night, in the deserted bathroom where they always end up for private conversations, they lean against each other and discuss their next actions. Do they turn this in and make trouble for the family that's running it? Because that's the obvious conclusion; they didn't recognize the homeless kids because they weren't homeless. Part of him gets it, Ethan claims. "I kind of wish I thought it up myself."

They try to come up with a plan to turn the whole scam to their benefit, but in the end, the decision is made for them. Four days later, an audit rolls through the V-Service center and a hotbed of dirty dealing is uncovered. Every 'charity' they associated with was gone over with a fine tooth comb, and several were disbanded. The heir apparent to House Whele, who was now the new saviorism principate, makes a huge spectacle of righting the wrongs and unveiling the ugly deception against his flock. 

No more charities is the long and short of it. So that ship has sailed.

Still, Alex goes back to V-Services and puts in a request for a small allocation of rations to help homeless kids. His request is denied, and he's given a list of 'child-friendly jobs' which are actually sweatshops. Still. Any port in a storm.

Except that no one is hiring right now. Check back in a week.

So, back to V-Services, who send him _back_ to the sweatshops, who _send him back_ to V-Services _again_ , and it just goes on and on. He's putting in requests every time he can, asking for food, for housing, for clothing, for the basic shit kids need to live, to no avail. They try to scare him off by accusing him of trying to set up a false charity until he offers to personally take them on a tour of the slums. This is when the truth comes out.

Nobody cares about V1 orphans. For whatever reason, they've lumped them together with the thieves, the prostitutes, the smugglers, the addicts--the list just goes on. The manager comes out to give Alex the tough talk: his request applications have all been trashed and will _continue_ to be ignored because the V-system is in place for a reason, and it would be best for Alex if he didn't come back.

And that's just _it_ for Alex. He walks away and doesn't say anything because there aren't any words left in him. What value do words carry if no one cares to listen? 

Alex walks back to the barracks in a daze. When he sees Ethan fresh off his shift, he walks right up to him in the middle of the hall and pulls him into a tight embrace. He buries his head into Ethan's shoulder, and tells him, "We're on our own."

**The water is numbingly cold these days.**

\-------------

With the heavy knowledge that no help is coming, Ethan and Alex throw themselves into becoming the best providers possible. They recognize that they're the last line of defense against a pile of dead orphans--it's a very motivating image. They've become lynchpins in the smuggling network that supports the entire V1 market, something the lowest caste cannot survive without. Ethan _especially_. He's become very good at stealing the best quality items from the Tops, and has extremely useful trade contacts. Ethan becomes something of a fast talker when the need arises. Part of it's the job, but part of it's to make up for Alex's newfound silence. 

It's as though Alex has had his words taken from him. Where once there was chatter of right and wrong and responsibility, there's cynical acceptance. Instead of arguing with Senior Officer John's various accusations, he delivers a biting remark and takes the whip without a word. He's become very talented at silence. So Ethan picks up the slack and speaks for him when he won't speak up for himself. 

With Alex making frequent scavenging trips, and Ethan pocketing Top trinkets, the two think they're doing pretty well…until they notice something troubling about Bixby.

She can't _read_.

Ethan and Alex look at each other nonplussed. "So…we have to teach them stuff now to?" Alex just shrugs, and Ethan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Man, it's like we're married with kids, but without the fun benefits." 

Alex chuckles until he notices Ethan giving him a look. "Fuck you, I'm not the wife."

"You're _totally_ the wife."

Alex has the next day off, so he heads down to the alley triad to investigate this illiteracy issue, and finds out a lot more than he expected. That little graffiti phase they were going through? Not a phase. In fact, he spotted several familiar sketch styles all over this part of town. Their little nest is even worse--you can't see a single brick for the paint. Alex was fine when they kept it in their den, but now it's like a trail of breadcrumbs leading anybody with eyes straight to them. 

When he tries to explain this to them, he makes another discovery: his adorable, sweet children have become little bundles of sarcastic gremlins. 

_This is all on Ethan_ , he thinks.

Once he settles everyone down, he finds out that his orphans aren't as bad off as he'd feared. Most of them know their ABCs; they just have trouble with longer, infrequently used words. They recognize the word 'market', but stare blankly at the word 'grocery'. Alex arranges a quick lesson plan, and has the older kids teaching the youngest the alphabet and basic math. It's the best he can do for now.

On his next outing to the strip, he keeps an eye out for suitcases and backpacks with any kind of cartoon on them, and damned if Alex doesn't sort through _every single one_. He finally hits bank when he comes across a moderately challenging book for his kids, and stowed that away with some jewelry, two bottles of wine, and a decanter of brandy. Alex hasn't seen Ethan very much this last week, so when he arrives back to base, he decides to wait up until his brother gets off shift.

Five in the morning is when Ethan is finally relieved of guard duty, and he finds Alex awake in his bunk, hair on end and reading some book like his life depended upon it. 

"What are you doing?" Alex jumped at the sound of his voice.

"Ethan! You've got to read this, it's terrific. I got it for the kids, but…I'm going to finish it first. So should you." Alex hands the book over and heads to the showers to prepare for his own shift. Ethan glances at the cover. The colors are faded from the desert sun, but there’s a boy with a broom between his legs and a cape around his neck, arms outstretched to catch a ball with wings.

"You want me to _read_ this?" 

A few hours later, they meet over breakfast, and Ethan brings up an important point. "You know this is only book one, right? There's a number on the spine. Look for the rest on your next trip." Alex grins.

"I told you it's good."

"Well, one thing's for sure. The kids are gonna _love_ it, _Mom_."

"Fuck you, I'm _not_ the _wife_."

**The waters they swim in are chilly, but they manage to make the best of it.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really need a beta, guys. Keep with me through this chapter, and I promise a better one soon.

Twenty now, and they’re still hanging in there; in fact, they’re doing fairly well, all things considered. Ethan has managed to teach them basic math, and Alex has cornered them on the reading front. They’ve all just finished the fourth book in their series (salvaged from the burnt remains of a bookstore), and their kids badger Alex for the next one every chance they get. So they’re happy.

Or as happy as things can be with some of the kids turning into unruly teenagers.

Teenagers, as it turns out, are evil little troublemakers birthed in the darkest recesses of Hell. And _of course_ neither Alex nor Ethan were _ever_ that bad when _they_ were that age. Ethan always shoots him a disbelieving look whenever Alex mentions this little fact.

“Well, at least _we_ didn’t run around spray painting the entire strip.” Alex looks up at the stenciled artwork. “Where the fuck are they getting all this paint from, anyway? I sure as hell didn’t smuggle it in.”

Ethan lays a hand on Alex’s shoulder and joins him in admiring the alley wall. “You’ve got to hand it to them, though. They’ve got a certain flair for it. Clever little bastards…”

Sprawled out before the two of them is a seven foot wide mural ten feet above the ground.

Alex nods, “How do you think they did it?” 

Ethan shrugged. “Drain pipes? Standing on shoulders?”

The two continue to speculate for some minutes.

“…rappel lines?”

“Whatever, I’m impressed.”

“Well _sure_ , Ethan, until one of them gets caught. What then?”

Ethan squeezed Alex’s shoulder. “If that happens, we deal with it.”

Alex lets out a breath. “You’re right, of course. There’s nothing to worry about until there’s something to worry about.”

Ethan grins. “We got this.”

Except they don’t ‘got this’. The next day brings a panicked 13 year old girl breaking into the Riesen estate looking for Alex and Ethan, who were both acting as Claire’s personal guards. Tearful and wide eyed, the girl, Sophia, tells them that Aidan was picked up by the Blues for vandalizing a metro bus bench. In the back of his mind, he quietly marvels at how a _child_ can sneak into this closely guarded compound. That’s one of _his_ kids, he reflects with a vague sense of guilty pride. Ethan stoops down and hugs the child, comforting her, while Alex turns to the Riesen heiress.

“Ma’am, please accept my apologies on her behalf. I will take all responsibility, but I need to take care of an emergency first.” Alex is about to radio in and beg a favor from Noma, when Claire steps forward and stays his hand.

“Alex, it’s alright.” She smiles at him. “And it sounds like we’re making a trip downtown.” Alex has to blink at that one. He’d been introduced to Claire Riesen almost a year ago, but this is the first time he’s ever seen _Claire_. Ethan stands and smiles gratefully at her, and Sophia peeks bashfully from around his waist. Claire just keeps grinning at the three of them. “Let’s go.”

The journey to the V1 Station is awkward, so Ethan chatters the whole way there. Alex, as per the norm these days, is silent. Claire plays with Sophia and teaches her some hand game involving a string being twisted into different patterns. She calls it cat’s-something-or-other. Both Ethan and Alex watch the Top like a hawk, but see nothing to cause alarm. 

Once their transport has reached the appropriate V1 station, Sophia stops the game and is pulling Ethan out of the car before it even reaches a full stop. Alex accompanies Claire a few steps behind them, and into the fray they go. The place is a madhouse—-and yet, Alex notes wryly, the Blues still take the time to make a case against a _kid_ with a _paintbrush_. Their rank as AACorps soldiers and the Riesen name are enough credentials to gain access to the interrogation room, where two uniforms are shouting at a cowering Aidan. The orphan may have been fifteen, but sunk so low into his chair from thinly-veiled fright, he looks much younger than his age.

When the Blues notice they have an audience, one of them sneers and asks, “Who the fuck are you?” 

Ethan immediately steps forward, and speaks in a deadly voice, “You will watch your tongue in the presence of _Lady_ Riesen.” Emphasizing the word ‘Lady’ grabs their attention, and it’s the cleverest thing Ethan could have said. Suddenly, the Blues are falling all over themselves to be helpful. 

The general gist is this: They’d be happy to let the child off with a warning, except the nature of the crime has antiwar sentiment, and is politically motivated slander against Archangel Michael and his Chosen One. It’s dissent, and they cannot let it pass, not even for Lady Riesen, without say-so from a higher-up. A little taken aback, Alex asks to see what was drawn, and they toss him a photo of the graffiti. 

Alex can’t even _believe_ this crap.

This ‘politically motivated insult to Michael’ isn’t an insult at all. It’s a _work_ of _art_. The metro bus stop is comprised of a bench housed in a plexiglass enclosure meant to protect patrons from the elements. On the clear wall behind the bench, Aidan has painted a beautiful pair of white wings. In the photo, some tramp in a rundown coat is sleeping propped upright, and the light filtering in through the frosty glass and sketched feathers makes him look like an ironically homeless angel. It’s such a beautiful message, Alex is speechless.

Thank God Ethan still has voice enough for both of them, because he reads the riot act to the Blues. He just _rips_ into them, with Claire chiming in with her two cents every couple of sentences, and Alex thinks they just might squeak by on this one.

Until Senior AACorps Officer John walks in with a look promising death. Apparently some jackass supervisor out front called up Archangel Core to inquire why some of their men were ‘interfering with an official investigation’. John splits his glare between Alex and Ethan. “I should have known it would be the two of you.” This starts up everyone arguing back and forth like children again, and Alex doesn’t think it can be any worse.

He really needs to stop jinxing everything, because _it gets worse_.

As soon as the archangel enters the room, wings melting into his back, everyone’s voices trail off with the exception of Sophia’s. She had already crept her way over to Aidan’s side, and whispers to him in awe, “Look, it’s a _Veela_!”

Just… _what_? To keep from laughing outright, Ethan starts a coughing fit, and Alex bites his lip so hard he tastes blood. No one else gets it. Alex can only imagine the picture they must present to Michael, and he seriously doubts it’s going to help their case. 

With Ethan choking down his laughter, and Alex drinking his own blood, it’s Claire who jumps in to save the day. She snatches the photographs off the steel table and practically shoves them in the archangel’s face. Alex pinches himself, because he must be dreaming if a _Top_ is defending a _V1_. She starts with the situation, and segues into the clear message of hope rather than insult; Michael shouldn’t be angry at an _orphan_ for painting something lovely rather than tagging with some vulgar curse word. Claire is speaking so fast, Ethan worries she might pass out. 

Michael arches a brow, and his eyes slide onto Alex, and for a moment he _hopes_. But Officer John looks thoroughly unimpressed at Claire’s off-the-cuff presentation, and voices his opinion on the vulgarity of portraying Michael as homeless—because, apparently, _that’s_ all he takes away from the image. Alex can feel the resignation fall heavy in the slump of his shoulders, because there’s no way Michael will listen when he thinks so lowly of him and so highly of John. A dark cloud of bitterness blooms in his chest—it seems like Michael will always take John’s word over his.

Except…Michael hasn’t turned away yet. He’s still staring at Alex despite the voices rising and falling around them, and he _hasn’t looked away_. 

A thrill races through Alex’s body when Michael asks him, “And what is your opinion on the matter?” He gives the blonde a piercing stare. “You have yet to speak.” The archangel’s voice rolls over him like syrup, and Alex holds back a shiver.

“I think,“ Alex replies carefully, “we should be asking the artist.” 

He looked over at Aidan, and Michael’s gaze followed his lead. “What is your meaning, then?” Aidan bites his lips, and pleading eyes look to Alex.

Alex nods at him encouragingly. “Tell him, Aidan.” Out the corner of his eye, Alex can see Michael glance at him curiously. _Probably surprised I know who the kid is_ , he thinks.

The teenager releases a sigh and stares very hard at the floor, a flush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. “I meant- I meant that it can be anyone. Since the angels aren’t being angels anymore. We have to be our own angels now.” 

That seems to catch Michael’s full attention, Alex notes. A long moment passes, and the archangel turns to the Blues, “Turn him loose. Surely the influx of illegal trafficking keeps you occupied enough?” Ethan looks up sharply at that piece of information and files in the back of his brain for later.

Disbelief flows through Alex, and he turns an inordinately pleased look to the archangel. John has once again taken charge, directing the Blues to carry out Michael’s edict, and ordering Ethan and, by extension, Alex to escort the Lady Riesen back to her home. Alex hears none of this, however, because Michael is still looking at him. That gaze is inscrutable, and he wonders what Michael reads in his expression. 

Apparently, he isn’t destined to find out, because John drags the angel’s attention away from him and onto other matters. Once the two have left, the Blues shove the kids at them and pointedly show them the door. Message received. Back on the concrete of Vega, Aidan turns to Alex and Ethan to apologize for getting caught. Ethan shrugs it off, and Alex saves his diatribe for a more private moment. He hands Sophia off to him so they can run on home while they take Claire back. 

Later that day, after their shift is ended, Alex has stiff words with Aidan out of worry, and Ethan soothes any rough edges left from the scolding. Sophia tells them all of the magical castle she broke into today, and thus, the Riesen stronghold is branded ‘The Palace’. They all want to visit, and the two barely manage to convince them not to commit a mass break and enter. Alex still worries his more delinquent of the bunch will try anyway.

It turns out there’s no need, because Claire _wants to help_.

She starts something called ‘Sunday School’, where she brings the children of Vega, including his orphans, into her home one day a week. Lunch is provided for them, and all it costs is a few hours of smiling and nodding along to a Saviorism sermon. When Claire first brought it up to Alex and invited his wards, he hugged her tightly, disregarding all propriety. He and Ethan are grateful to her because a full meal once a week makes all the difference. 

**The waters have calmed, and his ragtag group of survivors have managed to grab hold of some driftwood. It’s as though Alex has finally figured out how to float.**

\-------------

When John finally catches up to Alex (and later Ethan) to claim his pound of flesh for the graffiti debacle, Alex doesn’t even flinch under the crack of the leather strap. He’s flying high and feels _strong_ for the first time in a long while. With clenched jaw and vicious smile, he grips the table in a white-knuckle grip and stares into the memory of the archangel’s curious eyes. 

Michael may not truly see who Alex is yet, but he looked. 

He _looked_.

**Drifting along in the water, he stares up at the lightening sky to see a grand and beautiful bird circling overhead. Hope fills him, because where there are birds, there is land. Alex dares to smile for the first time in a long while.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is now being illustrated! A potential cover art has been posted on Deviatart (Profile: Thayde) and Tumblr (thayde-said@tumblr.com). There is a hint of what's coming up in the next chapter in the artwork, so tell me what you think!
> 
> Beta'd by Callay and Zuq--many thanks!

Word of Michael’s generosity towards Aidan spreads like wildfire throughout the streets. Partly from word of mouth, but most of it’s due to the kids' massive publicity campaign. Almost overnight, wings cover the walls of Vega. Benches, sidewalks, buildings…nothing is sacrosanct. Even the _video billboards_ become canvases. 

At the heart of it all is the archangel's nest- delicate wings cover the base of the spire, bold with colorful handprints and scrawled 'Thank you's' in childish script. 

Alex and Ethan smile every time they pass it when traveling to and from the Palace. 

One afternoon after their shift ends, while the two are strolling back toward the AACorps barracks, Alex’s eyes trail along the fresh layer of graffiti littering Michael’s tower.

“How many times does that make it now?”

Ethan shrugs. “Three power washes, isn’t it? You’d think they’d give up by now. They’re just giving the kids new space to draw on.”

“It’s one hell of a thank you card, that’s for sure. Though we should probably rein them in. Michael’s been ignoring it for now, but who knows how long that'll last.”

“Oh, _you’re_ one to talk, Alex!" With a wide grin, Ethan points to a small doodle at waist height on the concrete. “Don’t think I didn’t notice your own little cartoon of Michael!”

“Oh, shut up,” Alex mutters, ears burning red.  
"Hey, speaking about the graffiti, I've been meaning to talk to you about something." Ethan's grin is gone, transforming into a pinched frown as he leans closer to Alex. "It's something Michael said," he utters in a hushed tone, "He mentioned an influx of illegal trafficking in Vega." 

Alex makes a noise in the affirmative. “I remember. It’s not exactly uncommon. I’m surprised they’ve even noticed.” 

“That’s what I mean. Apparently, there’s been a big enough surge to reach Michael’s ears, which means the city council would _also_ have heard, and yet _I_ haven’t seen or heard anything like that." Hearing footsteps around the corner, Ethan straightens his back, a stiff smile in a place as they both nod off to the passing civilians- a pair of young women with arms full of hanging bags and dusty fabric. When they were safely out of earshot, Ethan continues with eyes piercing at their retreating backs.

"I mean, we’re at ground zero—that’s something we’d be hard-pressed to miss, don’t you think?”

Alex throat grows parched as he considers the implication. “Do you think there’s a chance it's a coincidence?" he asks, brows furrowing. "The Tops just noticing the current activity level for the first time?” 

Ethan rolls his eyes. “Don’t play dumb as an archangel," he scolds, lightly knocking his shoulder against Alex, "Something’s happening in our network and it’s really odd that we haven’t seen anything. I’m worried.”

Alex brings a hand to slide down his face before resting the palm against his mouth. “Agreed," he nods, "Whatever’s going down, the Tops are starting to pay attention." He rests a hand against Ethan's shoulder, nudging the other to face him. 

"You need to lay low for a bit. Things have been good lately…and I’ve actually been thinking about us backing off of the smuggling a bit.” He raises a hand as Ethan opens his mouth to argue. “Look, Claire’s been helping and with the stuff from some of our older kids, I think we can get away with cutting down on the risks we’ve been taking.”

Ethan blinks a few moments before he cocks a lopsided smirk. “You mean become law-abiding, productive members of this shitty society?”

Alex huffs a laugh. “Yes. Exactly.”

Ethan beams as he slings his arm across Alex’s shoulders. “God, what do you think we’ll be like when we go legit? We’re gonna get so _lazy_ , and wear, like, plaid ties and sweater vests or something…” 

**There are ominous storm clouds darkening the horizon, but the current is taking them towards blue sky. Alex’s avian friend still circles above them. Between his orphans, and his Ethan, and his bird, Alex thinks he will never feel alone again. He smiles despite the waves.**

\-------------

Walking to his shift at the Palace, Alex passes by a fellow soldier on break. A cigarette hangs from the man's lips, and his face is bowed down over clumsy hands fumbling with a regulation zippo. They exchange nods and “Good Morning’s”, Alex sparing a moment to trade good-natured gossip, all the while trying to suppress a manic grin.

Because the guy is leaning against a pair of painted wings. 

When Alex finally breaks away to continue towards his destination, a shadow on one of the rooftops catches his attention. The black leather coat easily identifies the archangel. He stands on a building across the way, looking strikingly statuesque against the bright noon sky. 

Michael tears his eyes from the guy on smoke break and settles his piercing stare onto Alex. A small smile softens the angel's stoic features, and Alex can’t help but return the gesture. Warmth blooms in his chest and he feels the heat spread over his cheeks. Their shared gaze finally breaks when Michael shakes open his wings, unfurling them to fly back towards the main tower. 

Alex keeps walking with a smile still on his lips. By the time he reaches the palace, his skin has regained its usual tint, but his heart still pounds in his chest like a war drum. 

More and more, they’ve been sharing these little moments when they pass each other in hallways, on the streets, in the Riesen Palace. Shared glances, filled with meanings that drift delicately in the air between them. During one memorable training session, Alex swears he felt the archangel’s fingers linger along the nape of his neck. He’s not quite sure what it all means, what it signifies about their relationship, but he recognizes the happiness lifting up his tired soul when one of these shared moments happen.

 **The water is bearable when, on occasion, Alex’s bird-friend swoops low enough for his fingertips to barely brush against soft feathers.**

 

\-----  
Sex. Somehow, Alex missed the memo. 

But just because he didn't notice the train leaving the station on out-of-control hormones, it doesn't mean everyone else forgot to board. Lately, Alex has stumbled across his friends in various compromising positions every other day. What was once some abstract piece of knowledge becomes an awkward daily lesson complete with human volunteers, many of whom he’ll have to look in the eye during his next shift. Alex makes a mental note to ask Ethan if he’d been dealing with the older orphans on this matter, because he sure as hell hasn’t. The last thing they need is more mouths to feed or medical bills to pay. 

He’s already twenty, and yet he never passed through the infamous stretch of rampaging teenage sex drives. Ethan didn’t either, when he thinks back about it, but Alex doesn't allow himself to linger on the thought. Really, it isn't like he didn't have a healthy curiosity. He isn't naive about the mechanics or social implications; it’s just…sex wasn't associated with pleasure or fun. Alex spent his defining years skirting Pleasure Boulevard, where sex and money went hand in glove, and innate desires had very little to do with it. Beauty became defined as the exact tilt of a hip calculated to maximize sex appeal, rather than something to be admired. Alex knows sex for the con it is: a means to an end. 

It's all a snare. It's all about release. 

Which is why he couldn't grasp why Noma was climbing some guy like a vine. When Alex investigates the moans coming from a random, out-of-the-way storeroom, he thinks someone might be hurt. And then he recognizes _Noma_ , and knows that girl can kill the bodybuilder wrapped within her legs in under two seconds, so this is obviously her _choice_. 

His eyes meet hers and time stands still for a brief moment—until Noma lets out a startled shriek, and pushes the man away from her to scramble for her clothes. Shielding his eyes from her nudity, Alex yells in embarrassment. “Oh God, Noma!” 

He’s out the door before she can blink, and, in his rush, stumbles straight into an unfortunate passerby in the hall. Strong hands grip his shoulders to steady him, and Alex rattles off an apology. “Whoa, sorry about runni— _Michael_.”

Said archangel raises a brow at his flustered state. He doesn’t let go of Alex’s arms, and takes in his fire-engine-red face. “Lannon…” His tone softens. “Alex—“

What Michael wants to say is lost forever, as the storage room door is abruptly pushed open to reveal Noma’s emerging figure. Her hair is everywhere, and her uniform hangs in disarray. It’s very obvious what she was doing in that room.

The same room that Alex left a scant second ago.

Michael’s hands spasm against Alex’s arms before the punishing grip is quickly relinquished as if viciously burned. The three stare at each other in surprise. Ice coating his voice, Michael stares at Noma with darkened eyes and speaks with tightly bridled anger, “ _Noma_.” 

Alex is amazed that she hasn't bled out under the razor sharp glower.

“Michael…” Noma begins, but the words die in her throat. Alex tries to defuse the situation and promptly makes it worse, which seems to be par for the course whenever Michael is involved.

“Noma was just…and I was—I mean _I_ wasn’t, but I just came out of the closet…but not like _that_ ," Alex stutters, making frantic gestures with his hands. " That was awhile ago, because Noma was there, and I was there, but _we_ weren’t in there for that-” Michael turns his black stare unto Alex, and his voice breaks at seeing the archangel’s expression harden to the point of marble. Alex wilts under the ire he finds there.

Just when it seems the archangel would speak, the storeroom door opens again, admitting into the fray the man Noma had been…associating with. Alex gives an internal sigh of relief, expecting Michael to return to ease in renewed understanding, but instead, the archangel's eyebrows shoot up under his bangs and his lips thin in furious disbelief. The man freezes under the archangel’s scrutiny, clothing just as unkempt as Noma’s, and wisely keeps his mouth shut. 

“You will all report to your commanding officers before the day is out. Storerooms are for supplies, not illicit meetings.” After throwing those words down between them, Michael brushes by Alex without a backwards glance. 

Once the archangel is out of earshot, Noma lets out a laugh, “Well he’s one to talk, right Alex? Come on, let’s go get put in timeout by the powers that be. Later Chris!” In the end, Alex is left alone in the hallway, trying to settle the twisted feelings in his gut. 

He lays awake that night, replaying the day’s incident in his head, wondering at Michael’s reaction and why he leapt to conclusions with such alarming ease. Did Alex seem like a promiscuous guy? Enough to hop into a dark storeroom with two people, one a complete stranger, for a quickie? If anything, Michael’s the one with the sordid history! And really, just how many of those rumors about Michael's nighttime proclivities were true? 

...And should it even matter to Alex if they were? 

It’s a clue-by-four to the back of his head, because that look on Michael’s face? A mean version of the heat that curls behind Michael’s eyes whenever they’ve crossed paths as of late. It's a magnification of the heart-stuttering, stomach-clenching burn that surges through his torso during their Little Moments. Jealousy. Alex gets it now, but he's very late to the game.

He rolls over and stares at Ethan snoring by his side. After a brief moment of debate, he nudges his bed partner awake and spills his revelation unto Ethan’s ears. The darker haired man chuckles and jabs a thumb into Alex’s ribs, making his body jerk in reaction. “Took you long enough," he whispers, voice hoarse with sleep,"I mean, those _long, lingering_ looks—oh, shit!” Ethan yelps when Alex shoved him off the bunk. 

Ethan’s voice drifts up from the vicinity of the floor. “So…you really saw _Noma_ in flagrante delicto? Gross!” 

“It was disturbing. I know things about her I really didn’t need to know.” 

Propping his elbows on the mattress, Ethan emerges from the depths of the floor, and pins him with a cautious look. “I know you’ve probably been thinking about the people on Pleasure Boulevard, but, you know, it’s not always like that.”

Alex shoots him their standard you’re-dumb-as-an-archangel look. “Of course I know that.”

Ethan raises his hands in surrender. “Just checking. Not everyone does.”

That catches Alex’s interest. He casts Ethan a speculative look, but doesn’t give voice to the questions in his heart. Who Alex was before they met is someone Ethan doesn’t know and will never meet. He can only assume it applies the same vice versa. They’ve never spoken about how their lives were before each other, and perhaps they never will. So when Ethan hefts himself back on the bed, _Alex doesn’t ask_. 

“Come on, o' brother mine, time for sleep.” Alex welcomes him back onto the bed with a strong pat on the back and they both resettle back under the covers. 

“Hey Alex,” Ethan murmurs after a few minutes of silence. 

"What is it?” Alex whispers back. 

There's a small pause. 

“Enjoy dreaming about Michael having his wicked, _wicked_ angel way with y—“

“Shut. Up.”

“You know, if you two got together, you’d _really_ be the wife then.”

“ _Fuck_ you, for the last time, I’m not the wife!”

“You would _cheat_ on Mic—ouch!”

**Thunder roars in the sky as the storm rolls closer. The waves ripple under the sound. Alex clutches Ethan to himself tightly, and wonders if the beautiful bird will stay when the tempest finally does hit. Looking up, his avian friend is braving the quickening winds, and Alex dares to believe. Either way, he’ll never see the bird in the same light ever again. The skies are darker now.**

\--------

In the wake of the hallway incident and his newfound epiphany, Alex hasn’t seen hide nor feather of the archangel. When their paths finally cross again, there are no half-smiles or glances. Michael avoids him entirely, and on the rare occasion Alex manages to trap his gaze, the archangel erects a stone wall behind his eyes. Something is broken between them, Alex realizes, and he has no idea how to fix it.

 **Alex keeps a sharp eye out for his wild bird, but it won’t fly near anymore.**

\-------------

Alex doesn’t dwell long on the fracture between him and Michael because, once again, disaster appears at his and Ethan’s door in the form of Richard DeMark. The scruffy, dark-eyed stranger tracks them down on one of their Anywhere-But-Here days. 

They’ve slipped outside of Vega together, eating at a little run-down diner that threatens to collapse with the next stiff breeze. This doesn't happen very often—maybe three times a year, if that—but sometimes, they just need to get away. 

Pretend to be anyone else from anywhere else.

Ethan savors his usual pudding, while Alex tears into a fat burger (he makes a point not to ask just where the meat came from). They’re torn from their respective meals when a chair is set down at their table, and is accompanied by a stranger who settles in without qualm or permission. Ethan pauses, spoon still in his mouth, and raises an eyebrow at the presumption. 

“Can we help you with something?” Alex asks, setting down his burger. 

The stranger grins and lays his open palms face down on the table. “The burgers here any good?” 

Alex shrugs. “Can’t really go wrong here.” He takes another bite to emphasize the point.

“I’m usually more of steak man, myself, but that burger looks particularly appetizing.”

Ethan pulls the spoon from his mouth and tells the man "Say what it is you want and be upfront with it.” He gives a pointed look at the man’s hands which were still on the table between them. Placing them within clear view is an obvious diplomatic motion—he’s not here to hurt or fight them. No, this man is here on business; he wants something from him and his brother. 

“We’re kinda having a day, here,” Alex adds. They’ve never been partial to beating around the bush.

“Of course, Alex," the man replies with a nod, "I appreciate a man with a sense of urgency, so let’s cut to the chase, shall we?“

Alex and Ethan exchange quick glances. After a short stretch of silence, Alex eyes the man with suspicion. “I don’t recall telling you my name."

The man relishes in the question, his face morphing into a slick smirk with deep shadows forming around his eyes. “That’s because we’ve never met.”

Ethan’s spine snaps straight, raising him right along side his hackles. Alex feels his shoulder blades flex in aggression. 

“The name’s Richard DeMark," the stranger continues easily," And relax fellas, I’m just here to talk." Lips quirk into a predatory smirk. "For today.” 

“I suggest you speak plainly. Say what you want. Then get the _fuck_ out,” Ethan growls, face twisting at the implied threat. 

Richard raises a brow and sighs. “As you like it. I’m here to deliver a business proposition. I represent certain people in New Delphi who’ve been forging, let’s call them “unofficial ties” with Vega." He leans closer to them, arms moving to cross over the tabletop. "We’ve noticed your little trade system here and it's pretty impressive. We want you to refocus those activities towards these new trade routes.”

“So what you’re basically saying,” Alex drawls, ”is that you want us to work for you.”

Richard gives a tight nod.

Ethan snorts. “Of course you do. And why would we do that? We’re free agents right now—we don’t answer to anyone but ourselves. Why should we change that? Besides, we’re retiring soon.”

Richard traces thick fingers along the wood grains of the table, following the path with his eyes. “Change is fast, regardless of what you want. Better to help facilitate the shift in power than be ruined by it, I think." He turns his dark eyes back up to them. "And I _know_ you don’t want those kids in the crossfire.” Alex feels the chill of ice down his spine and see's Ethan's hand curl into a tight fist. Richard continues, unconcerned with the rising tension. 

“I gotta’ say, it was easy to trace those painted wings right back to that alley triad. Where was that again…the corner of Santa Rita, Santa Rosa, and San Pablo, wasn’t it? Man, you guys chose that location well, but you know kids these days. So careless.” He snaps his fingers and leans against the back of the chair, tilting his head slightly to the right. “That reminds me, for whatever reason. Those kids are a pretty useful bunch. I tell ya, I’m _impressed_ at their ability to end up in high security places they, by all rights, shouldn’t be able to access. Like that one girl, didn’t she sneak into the Riesen stronghold?”

“You son of bitch," Ethan spats, "Do you think we’ll let you so much as _touch_ a hair on their heads?”

Richard gives a sharp laugh, “You think you’ll have a choice? Both of you are AACorps. You’re not going to be able to stand guard twenty-four seven! And you’re sure as hell not gonna’ be able to hide them under your bed in the barracks.” His face loses all traces of humor. “Look, the fact of the matter is this: You’re expendable. You aren’t necessary, you’re _convenient_. This will happen with or without you, there’s no helping that. But you _can_ ensure the safety of those stones around your necks. We would prefer your acquiescence, but we’re more than willing to make an example of you and yours if there’s a problem.”

Richard lets his words sink in before he stands, chair scraping across the floor as it's pushed back. “Think about it. I’ll be in touch. You’ve got one week.” 

Alex barely registers Richard’s fading footsteps over the blood pounding in his ears. Ethan’s eyes, well, _if only looks could kill_ , Alex thinks, _that man would be gutted on the edges_. “So this is what’s been coming all along, then," Ethan mutters, breaking Alex out of his stupor," Territory dispute—their runners want to expand into Vega, and the current regime is saying no.”

Alex massages his forehead with his hands and closes his eyes. “And here we are right in the middle of it all." He brings down his hands and opens his eyes to face Ethan. “Holy hell, but _what_ the _actual fuck_ is up with New Delphi? We need to alert the kids. They need to be aware of the danger, and they need to cut that graffiti shit out. Gotta move em, and tighten ranks…” Alex rambles, letting the words trail off in his frustration.

Ethan nods in agreement. “And they’ve been watching us,” he points out. 

Alex swallows the lump in his throat. Something strange had been bothering him lately, certain details which didn't fit perfectly as they should. “It’s not just them.” Ethan flashes him a questioning glance. “How could he know about Sophia breaking into the Palace? I could understand them finding out about Bix and the others sneaking into the barracks—it happens often enough. But Sophia’s little escapade happened before we noticed the stirrings in the lower circles." With a heavy sigh, Alex weighs the gravity of the most logical conclusion before continuing.

"Someone _told_ them.” 

A quiet desperation stretches between them before Ethan whispered “Fuck.” Plenty of people knew the tale of Aidan’s bullet-dodge, but only a handful knew about Sophia’s role. And these smugglers from New Delphi’s underground could hardly walk up and ask Claire or Michael. 

Alex brings his elbows to rest on the table, positioning his arms and head so his forehead lays on his laced fingers. “Had to be one of the kids,” he concludes, grave eyes downcast. 

Mimcking his bonded brother, Ethan slouches over the table with a defeated sigh. “They’re not stupid. Someone comes around asking questions, they’ll know somethings up, and…just, _fuck_. We’ve got a rat.” The word _Traitor_ is left suspended between them. If Richard is a man of his word, they only have a week to sort this shit out. 

They force themselves to finish the rest of their meal, the food sitting like lead in their stomachs. 

**The storm finally rolls over them, riling up the surrounding waters. Temperature plummets, clouds rush forth to block out the sun, and they’re sinking again that quick. The hands of the hanger-ons tighten their grips upon the brothers like heavy iron shackles. Dark shadows swim back and forth below their floating forms.**

**Sharks are circling, and Alex flinches as sharp nails scrape along his shoulder, though he can’t tell who did it through the overwhelming press of bodies.**

**His blood spreads in the water, tantalizing.**

\-------------

The next three days are a blur. Ethan's jokes are scarce and he doesn’t crack a single smile. They’ve told the kids to be on their guard, though the best promise they could get out of them was a temporary hold on their artistic revolt. Still no clue on who’s been informing on their ragtag family, even after interrogating Bixby for over two hours. 

Late night finds them in heated debates over what to do about Richard DeMark and his ultimatum. Alex refuses to put the kids through any unnecessary risk, but Ethan argues they’ll never get out from beneath his thumb if they knuckle under now. “Better to take control of the situation and make some demands of our own," he insists, "then set a precedence of easy submission.” It’s a fair point that Alex has to concede. 

The debate is tabled temporarily when an irritated Noma returns from her shift early to fetch them. “Hey, Michael needs two other guards for something. Like, right now." Alex perks up at the archangel's name. " Since you’re up anyway, I’m press-ganging you into early service.” 

“Ah, Nomes, I get that you love us above all others, but doesn’t that mean you should _spare_ us the late night food runs for those annoying Tops—ow! Not so hard!” Ethan’s needling is apparently unwelcome, because she socks him one in the shoulder. Hard.

“It’s _late_ , Mac, I’m _tired_ , and I still have five hours on my shift. Let’s go.” 

Alex is smart enough to keep his mouth shut and follows along, even doing Ethan a good turn by clamping a hand over his brother’s mouth to smother another snarky remark. None of them are in high enough spirits to keep the ribbing good-natured.

Once they’re suited up and suitably armed, the trio marches from the barracks towards Michael’s nest. 

“Noma,” Alex asks, “why didn’t you just radio in from the Stratosphere?” 

She snorts derisively. “This is private affair, apparently. Michael requested I personally retrieve some trusted fellows and to keep it off the wavelengths.” 

And wasn’t _that_ just intriguing? Ethan and Alex trade speculative looks and dutifully follow Noma’s lead straight up 1,455 steps to the Archangel’s front door. Alex's hope grows with every step. Michael has to know that he and Ethan are Noma’s most trusted friends, so this may be a chance to explain that misunderstanding in the hallway. If Michael would just hear him out, they could go back to the way things were. Maybe they can move forward again.

Michael must have timed the seconds it takes to complete the longest fucking climb _ever_ , because the door opens the moment the three soldiers crest the final step. Alex and Ethan are sucking in air like it’s going out of style and can barely keep each other standing, unlike Noma, who looked much less pathetic in her self-presentation. Being the personification of badass, she makes it seem as if she made the trek every day, so _no big deal_. Alex hates to admit how inadequate he feels standing next to her. 

Alex snaps to attention upon hearing the creek of a door, and lifts his gaze to lock with the archangel's eyes. Seeing Michael this close again, it’s…well, it’s something Alex isn’t going to name, but his heart may or may not have jumped. With the newest disaster coming home to roost, Alex hasn’t spared much thought on his archangel dilemma, and he admits to himself that he wasn’t prepared for this so soon. After weeks of the cold shoulder, Michael stands framed by the archway, his form reflecting the warm golden glow from the lit candles behind him. He wore nothing but a thin pair of grey silk sleep pants, expensive enough to feed Alex and Ethan for a week, which hung low to emphasize the jutting angles of his hip bones. Sweat layered his skin, casting a sheen around the dips of his muscles and causing strands of artfully tousled hair to cling against his forehead. 

Alex has never seen him with a single hair out of place, so it took him a moment to notice the five semi-naked women further in the bedroom. 

Distantly, Alex hears a sharp intake of breath from Ethan, who clearly draws the same obvious conclusion. With clenched jaw, Alex flicks his sight back to Michael and hopes his eyes don't betray his inner turmoil. The archangel stares back at him, impassive. “I require an escort for my…guests. Naturally, I expect you all to be appropriately discreet.” 

As he finishes speaking, four of the women swan out from the bedroom and peer over his shoulder at their guides. A buxom brunette chooses Noma. Ethan gapes at a pair of ginger twins who settle on either side of him. Alex is assigned to a blonde women; his heart lurches at her tomboy haircut, which was similar to the one his mother sported in his father’s photo. Alex swallows down the lump in his throat and bites out a somewhat respectful “Yes, sir.” _At least_ , Alex thinks bitterly, _they’re wearing robes, even if there’s nothing else underneath them._

Michael gives a terse nod. Alex watches as the fifth woman sidle up next to the angel and lay a soft manicured hand on his bicep. Alex imagines _cutting that hand off_ , but composes himself when he recognized her as Senator Becca Thorne. 

“Senator Thorne, would you care for an escort to your home?” Ethan inquires, though his outraged glare remains fixed on Michael. Again, Alex is reminded how grateful he is for Ethan's friendship. 

Michael barely acknowledges Ethan—he only takes his eyes off Alex for a split second—but as Becca Thorne opens her mouth to respond, he heads her off at the pass. “That won’t be _necessary_.” The archangel slips a hand down Becca’s spine, shoots Alex a final pointed look, before closing the door in his face. 

No. He definitely wasn’t prepared for this. 

Michael’s basically flipping Alex the bird with his actions, and he doesn’t even know why. Something inside him crumbles, and just feels so _stupid_. Becca Thorne is beautiful, so of course he would choose her. Alex hates himself for believing, if only for a little while, that a gutter rat like him actually had a shot with someone like Michael. 

Alex takes in a deep breath and focuses on the hand Ethan has placed on the nape of his neck. A quick squeeze is all he needs to get back in the here and now. He clears his throat, and gestures to the stairs. “Well, ladies, if you’re ready to leave?”

“Oh, why are we taking the stairs?” asks the blonde (Alex decides he’s _not_ going to learn her name). “Becca had the elevator fixed last week.” Alex isn’t sure which stabs him in the chest first—the fact that this is clearly not their first visit, or the clear indication that it’ll happen again. Soon. Probably again tonight. 

He supposes he might do the same if he had the opportunity, except that _no_ , actually, he _wouldn’t_ , because he never really believed in that kind of thing before. But he would’ve tried with _Michael_ because they were heading somewhere—though Alex figures they aren’t anymore. Not after this.

Michael has sent that message loud and clear. 

He can practically hear Ethan grinding his teeth together in anger on his behalf. He’s pathetically grateful. “How _kind_ of Senator Thorne. After you.”

**A violent wave crashes over Alex’s head, tugging him beneath the surface. He feels Ethan’s grip tighten to keep him from floating away. Below him are lithe shadows looming closer and closer, and looking up through the layers of water only reveals muted colors. Shivering in the icy water, Alex mourns the loss of his avian friend, and wonders why. Holding his breath, he turns away to face those creeping shadows. He refuses to look to the sky for comfort ever again.**

\-------------

Alex clings to Ethan that night, and they both pretend that he isn’t crying. He feels like a fucking halfwit over this, because it’s not like anything was really lost. What’s he so upset over, Alex continually asks himself. A handful of _looks_ to which he’s wishfully assigned deeper meaning? Clearly, a mistake. 

Ethan only whispers one thing. “Fuck the Archangel. He’s too fucking stupid to live, Alex.”

Tomorrow, he tells himself. Tomorrow he’ll get mad, and then start to get over it, but tonight he just wants to fall apart. 

**Ethan holds on to his arm for dear life. They’ve struggled for far to long, and survived to many close calls to let himself drown now. They’ve come to far to go back. Alex holds tight, and tries to swim up.**

\-------------

Noma flicks measured glances at Alex, but makes it a point to not mention the tense atmosphere at the tower a few nights back. Alex can picture it now—she’s thought back to the hallway incident, and now Michael’s little display, and has put two and two together to equal a torrid affair. Something off the cover of those trashy books she makes him scavenge for her. She’s wrong, of course, but that doesn’t keep her stares at bay.

Briefly, Alex wonders if Michael was trying to make a point to Noma as well, but immediately writes it off as wishful thinking. Ethan agrees. No point in torturing himself, after all.

What Alex has carefully kept to himself, however, is the ridiculous urge to actually _explain himself_ to the feathered fuck. Like he was in the wrong, or something. It wasn’t Alex jumping to conclusions outside of a storeroom without a second thought, and it sure as hell wasn’t Alex fucking five women (and letting one _stay the night_ ). So no—he doesn’t owe Michael _shit_. 

Still…his mind conjures up a fairytale universe where he and Michael manage to have an honest-to-god conversation, and end up…well, on the cover of one of Noma’s trashy books. Whatever, it’s a pointless endeavor. Alex can count on one hand the number of times they’ve interacted beyond that of soldier and commander. 

So he tells himself to _man the fuck up already_. 

“Alex?” Claire’s voice jolts him out of his internal diatribe and he reminds himself that he’s still on duty. “You’ve been miles away all day.” 

“Apologies Lady Riesen, what can I do for you?” She laughs and swats at his shoulder.

“You can start by calling me by my _name_ , and tell me what has you so preoccupied.” 

Alex twists his mouth into a passing approximation of a smile. “Nothing worth mentioning, I promise you.” Nothing but wondering where the hell to hide over thirty orphans (one or more of which are putting the others at risk by informing on them). Nothing but dodging a group of smugglers who seem to actually be organized on a larger scale than Alex thought was possible, with the city-states being what they are. Nothing but the archangel taking a (gorgeous) senator to bed.

Not that the last one mattered. At all.

Claire gives him a skeptical look and seems on the verge of calling him out on the lie, but he cuts her off. “Didn’t you mention the other day you were meaning to visit the market?” If he sounds a little desperate, Claire doesn't mention it. She just nods in silent agreement not to push him for an explanation. 

An hour later, he and another guard escort Vega’s heir apparent through the nicer (legal) trade squares. Alex tries to push his thoughts to the back of his mind and focus on his job, but to no avail. His thoughts rabbit around the situation and his mind replays Michael’s hand on Becca Thorne’s lower back. He can't erase the click of the door as the archangel closed it between them. He’s been yo-yoing between “moderately maudlin” and “seriously brassed off”.

Later, when Alex is asked why he was taken by surprise, he will lie and say the attacker was just that much better than him. The truth is something only he and Michael will ever know. 

The square is bustling, which always makes the job more difficult—especially since Claire had the unfortunate habit of running off without waiting for her escorts—and his fellow AACorp soldier had lost their match of ro-sham-bo, thus getting stuck with the bitch job of toting around whatever Lord Riesen’s daughter has the urge to buy. The poor bastard is already juggling the assortment of fresh fruit from the grocer (named Louie, or Luke…something with an ‘L’, Alex vaguely recalls) and having a hell of a time navigating the throngs of people. 

Peering through the store window of a knick-knack shop, Claire stops to look at a music box—the same one she always laments over but never buys (and _there’s_ a story that Alex would like to know). A ginger-haired man slips through the crowd, drawing Alex’s attention, though he can't explain why. He keeps tabs on the stranger—he’s broken some behavior pattern that Alex can’t place his finger on—until the teeming mass of market patrons part to reveal Michael’s leather clad form. The angel is in conversation with the grocer until he turns his head just so, and catches Alex’s gaze.

His heart stutters for a moment. A moment was all it took.

Alex has a split second to wonder why Michael’s eyes widened in urgency when the ginger is suddenly crowding him and Claire. Silver flashes, and there’s just enough time to shove Claire behind him before a knife’s edge is slipped between the plates of his armored vest to bite into his side, right under his ribs. 

Sharp pain lances through his abdomen and he collapses forward onto his attacker. The stabber holds him close for a second to whisper “compliments of Richard DeMark” into Alex’s ear, twists the knife until he keens in agony, and drops his body to the ground before melting back into the crowd. 

Clutching the knife in his body, Alex is distantly aware of Claire screaming his name, her voice fading out as the other guard hustles her away to safety. Sounds from panicked shoppers start to dull as he rolls onto his back, and Alex is helpless to prevent the people from trampling him in their flight from danger. He braces himself for the inevitable crush, trying his best to curl his body into the smallest target possible. His body throbs with his heartbeat, pulse pounding in his ears, and the warm blood escaping from the wound slides between his fingers. Alex bites back the pain and applies as much pressure around the knife as he can stand, though it seems a futile effort if the red pool spreading under him is any indication. 

Mercifully, the stampede of feet begin to avoid his prone form and it takes Alex some sluggish moments to realize why. Soft, black feathers fan out above him, blocking the bright sunlight and he turns his gaze skyward for a better look. Michael is kneeling over him, mouth forming words that Alex cannot seem to hear for the blood rushing in his ears, and a numbness spreading through his body. 

It’s stupid, Alex contemplates in his growing lethargy, that his final thought isn’t for the knife in his side, or the orphans who depend on him, or even _Ethan_ (the best death he can imagine for himself is going out while protecting Ethan). Instead, he marvels at the naked look on the Archangel's face where a maelstrom of emotions fight for dominance. Michael's wings are twitching and flapping, feathers cutting through the air in all directions. 

Alex stretches his hand up and trails a bloodstained finger along the feathers within his reach (he’s always wanted to touch Michael’s wings). Michael has this _look_ on his face, like he’s lost something precious and doesn’t know what to do about it. Alex drops his hand to Michael’s cheek, and smiles at him. 

The archangel covers his hand with his own, and turns his face into it. Alex can feel him tremble. As darkness creeps into his vision, Michael drops his hand, and Alex distantly feels a sensation of vertigo as his body is lifted into the air. The last thing he experiences is a forceful rush of air and the scent of feathers.

**Blood permeates the water. The swarm of shadows surround him before Alex can swim to the surface, and dread floods his being when he feels his hand slip from Ethan’s desperate grip. As hard as he struggles not to, his body spasms, forces his mouth to open and take a breath. Alex sinks into the cold darkness as the icy liquid rushes into his lungs.**

**He dreams of flying.**


	5. Fan Art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> See the art on Deviantart (profile: Thayde), tumblr (thayd-said), or follow me on twitter @Said_Said. Only fan art or work related to my Dominion fanfics will be posted.
> 
> Some hints about what's coming up next!


	6. Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay--it's taking me a bit longer to finish this chapter than I expected, so I'm splitting it into two parts. Here's the first bit.

His fellow soldiers would describe waking from unconsciousness as slowly floating up through layers of soft blackness, until finally breaking the surface of the living world. That is not Alex’s experience. After his mind fades into the dark, he doesn’t have any sense of self-awareness until the exact moment he awakens.

He simply doesn’t exist, until he does.

There is no slow regaining of senses. Everything that makes his body tick abruptly comes back online all at once, and amplified. Chemical antiseptic burns into his nose, eliciting a sneeze that painfully flexes his abdomen. The white ceiling and bright lights stab into his eyes. The rhythmic beeps from the many heart monitors in the hospital ward pierce his eardrums like tiny needles. 

Alex tries to raise his hands to block it all out, but finds them trapped in warmth.

Glancing to the side of his bed, he lays sight on a sleeping Ethan. His brother is slumped forward in a chair, his upper body resting on the hospital bed, and holds both of Alex’s hands in his own. Softly squeezing Ethan’s fingers shouldn’t require so much effort, but it’s worth it to watch his brother’s eyes light up upon seeing Alex is awake again.

Alex’s voice croaks like a smoker who’s sucked down a pack of cigs every day for a decade. “How long was I out?” 

Ethan leans forward, smile lighting up his face. “Eight days. Good to see you rejoin the living again.” Ethan’s voice lowers to a gruff octave, and he tightens his grip. “You scared the ever-living fuck out of me, brother mine.”

Rolling his head to the side on the soft pillow, Alex faces Ethan as best as he can. “Sorry. It’s a bad habit. I’ll try to break it.” 

Ethan huffs. “You better.” 

Giving Ethan a weak smile, Alex tugs his hands free to push back the blankets and fiddle with the gauze covering his wound. Peeling back the tape with shaky fingers, he braces himself for whatever gruesome mess is hiding under the white medical cloth. Instead, he finds his damaged flesh already knitted itself shut, leaving behind a clean, smooth patch of red skin. 

Peeking over Alex’s arm, Ethan is just as shocked as Alex. He breathes out a subtle “what the hell”, and Alex is inclined to agree with the sentiment. Poking the wound site reveals that it’s still very tender on the inside—moving around is going to be a bitch. Still…

“I _know_ that should be worse than it is.” Alex shudders as the vivid ghost of a twisting knife skirts the edges of his memory. “I couldn’t even…” His raspy voice trails off as he forces his mind onto other things. 

With a groan, he starts the laborious task of sitting up. Ethan immediately moves to help him, wrapping one arm around his shoulders while the other repositions the pillow. Once Alex is settled again, Ethan slumps back into his chair and rests his chin on his hand. 

“What happened, Alex? What do you remember? The guy wasn’t even caught.”

Alex lets out a breath, and tries to gather together a brief account for Ethan. “I was escorting Claire through the market, and this guy… he was off, somehow. Caught my attention, you know? Got distracted for just a second… I only had time to shove Claire aside, and here we are.”

By the end of his raspy story, Ethan is staring at him, face scrunched up with incredulity. “That’s it? I imagined something more, I dunno, dramatic? And not to be that person, but you’re far from helpless, Alex. While you’re not the best fighter in our unit, because none of us will _ever_ bask in the glory of defeating Noma, you’re still in the top thirty percent.” 

Alex smirks as he leans his head back, eyes closing, and deflects for his life. “Shut up, we’re both in the top twenty percent, at least.” He shrugs, and plays it off as best he can. “The man just had a lucky day.” He can’t honestly say that Claire’s work with his kids wasn’t at the forefront of his mind when he pushed her out of harm’s way. He chose to take defensive action in her favor over an offensive maneuver in his. Besides, the last thing Alex wants to explain, particularly while still weak in an infirmary bed, is how the mere sight of Michael unbalanced him enough to get himself stabbed. Especially by a man who normally wouldn’t have the skills to _touch_ him, let alone hospitalize him. 

And Ethan’s already pretty rabid about the whole Michael fiasco. So. Alex is going to keep that little detail to himself.

A thought wedges itself to the forefront of Alex’s mind, and he looks over towards Ethan. “Actually, there was something. The man, when he knifed me, he whispered something in my ear. Something about Richard DeMark.” He lets out a cough as his parched throat betrays him. “Message received.”

Ethan grits his teeth for a moment, and Alex takes a moment to watch Ethan’s skin work its way through every shade of red imaginable. “ _Bastard._ He said a week! We still had twenty-four hours.” Alex can tell it’s a struggle for him to keep his voice down.

Something tickles at his nose. “Is that smoke?”

Ethan’s eyebrows draw together, and tilts his head in confusion. “What?”

“Smoke. I smell smoke.”

Taking a few cursory sniffs, Ethan graces him with his famous ‘Whiskey Tango Foxtrot Face (patent pending)’. “I don’t smell anything.”

“No, I smell smoke coming from _you_. Come closer.” Leaning in towards each other, Alex breathes in near Ethan’s hair. “You smell like ash and soot.” 

A troubled expression flits onto Ethan’s face for a brief moment before melting into a somber countenance. “That happened the same day you were hurt. I’ve been by several times, but you have no idea how many showers I’ve had since… how can you smell that?” 

Heart dropping into his stomach, Alex dreads hearing the answer when he hoarsely asks, “What’s happened?”

Ethan looks away from him, and moves to stand. “Let me get you some water.” 

Muscles screaming, Alex darts forward and just barely manages to snag Ethan’s sleeve. “No, tell me what’s happened.” 

Ethan takes hold of his hand and sets it back onto Alex’s lap. “Water first. You sound like a chain smoker. After that, well, we’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

**Coughing up water, his first gasp of oxygen is nothing but pain in his lungs. The cold air burns his throat like fire.**

**It hurts to breath.**

**The only other thing Alex is aware of is the heat radiating into the flesh of his chest. Peeling his eyes open, he finds himself draped across Ethan’s back. His brother in everything that matters is swimming for the both of them.**

**He can only imagine how exhausted Ethan must be.**

**Looking around, he sees only the wide expanse of blue water stretching to the horizon. Alex can’t see any of the people they’ve been struggling to hold afloat. There are no hands pulling at _EthanandAlex_. **

**He chokes out one desperate question from behind his chattering teeth. “Where is everyone?”**

\-------------

Alex is very glad to have woken up relatively healthy—happy to wake up _at all_ — except he’s woken up to a whole new slew of problems. 

But what else is new? 

His doctor has assigned him copious amounts of bed rest, which is a new experience. The usual medical treatment is having an ibuprofen shoved down his throat and sent along his merry, yet painful, way. Got the flu? Ibuprofen. Broken nose? Ibuprofen. Recovering from a gunshot wound? More ibuprofen than usual. This time, however, he’s earned himself a stay at the low end of the highbrow hospital reserved for Tops. For the first time, Alex actually has a doctor _assigned_ to him, with regular rounds and everything. 

It’s his worst fucking nightmare. 

After Ethan had brought him back up to speed yesterday, his doctor shooed his brother away and explained in no uncertain terms that Alex was under bed arrest. It took him all night and the early morning to find the perfect moment to drag his tired bones from the hospital bed… and sneak out. Alex has no time to sleep away the day.

He’s needed elsewhere.

Now he stands at the corner of Santa Rita, Santa Rosa, and San Pablo, and stares in deadened horror at the triad alley that once housed his orphans. Before he was stabbed, there were graffitied walls, a roof, and piles of blankets. And laughter. He’s woken up to black soot, ashes, and the smoldering remains of a home. Twisted, melted strips of metal reach towards the sky as a mementomori of what stood before. Glass litters the ground, and Alex catches sight of a half-burned rag doll. Peering further into the rubble, he notices a book spine that partially survived the flames. All the pages of book 4 have been made into ash.

The lingering smell of smoke floods his nose, making him gag. 

Alex sits down on the ground before the pile of charred wreckage, and ruminates on this latest hit. This pile of sticks and dust is all that’s left of everything he and Ethan had been working for the last six years. They had _built_ this place with their own hands—stole the tools and scavenged the wood and metal from Vega’s dumpsters to put a roof over all of their heads. Years of collecting blankets and mattresses, of hanging sheets as room dividers, of _carving out a home_ in this godforsaken city, are left in ash and ruin. 

It _hurts_. Something inside him is irreparably wounded at the loss, and keens out pathetically. Nothing will quiet the whines for years to come. The scorch marks are indelibly scarred across his heart.

Still, it’s nothing that can’t eventually be rebuilt, and he’s grateful for what did survive. Ethan has assured him that no one has died, though Caleb and Cassie, twins from the last New Delphi wave of homeless kids, are sick from smoke inhalation. A handful of others are badly burned. His instincts scream for him to check over the injured members of his gaggle of orphans, but he’s unable to follow through.

Because neither he nor Ethan have any idea _where the fuck they are_.

The hurricane of events during his convalescence, as described by Ethan, happened in rapid and destructive order. While he was busy bleeding all over the market, the New Delphi runners made their bid for power over Vega’s black-market network. Vega’s leading smugglers and trade lords had their throats slit and their corpses strung up in the various V1 trade streets as a message to the masses. Ethan, who was delivering to them the ‘bi-monthly tax’ of cologne, wine, and other such goods, managed to escape the bloodbath by the skin of his teeth. Realizing what was happening, he made his way to the triad alley just in time to find their old home set aflame, and to watch the self-made roof collapse in a shower of smoke and sparks. The scene unfolded itself with weeping and screaming children, and a group of men brutally grappling with each other in a dirty brawl. The older orphans either shepherded the younger away, or participated in the street fight. 

Basically, everything in the V1 city sector went to straight to hell. 

Alex can extrapolate from there. When murder and fire break out in the gutters of Vega, the streets become flooded with the Blues, and _everyone_ gets arrested and tossed into the prison fish tank. Pandemonium breaks out easily when dead bodies litter the roads, and every scum-sucking lowlife out there takes advantage of the panicking crowds. There was no other choice, Alex knows, except for Ethan to tell their kids to scatter and run. All he can do now is scour every corner of Vega to find them again, and hope none of them got themselves arrested, captured, or killed. 

He just needs a second to breathe. 

Deeply inhaling the residual scent of fire, Alex holds that dark breath in his lungs for several heartbeats. He wants to _remember_ this. Wants to hold this unholy union of fury and hate and pain in his soul, and slowly nurture and tend to it. And on the day he finally has the upper hand over Richard DeMark, Alex intends to educate this man about the violence now coiled in his heart. 

The last time someone harmed their family, Ethan took up the responsibility of revenge. Now, it’s Alex’s turn to step up, because Ethan already made the hard call. Telling their ragtag team of orphans to run, that they couldn’t protect them from this new threat, would have torn him up inside. He’ll do this for Ethan, because Ethan once did it for him.

Exhaling, Alex struggles back to his feet, clutching his abdomen, and picks up a charred piece of wood. He scrapes an unmistakable message onto the wall in the form of a rough sketch of Michael—his signature drawing. _I’m alive_ , it says, I’ll find you. 

Dropping the stick to the ground, Alex slowly starts trekking towards Vega’s border—home of one of only two entrances to the bowels of the city-state that a grown adult can fit through. Before he and Ethan joined the AACorps, whenever they needed to lay low for awhile, they’d retreat to the tunnels running under Vega via the storm drains. They’ve since outgrown using this as a common practice, but it’s as good a place as any to begin his search. If he’s lucky, one of the older orphans may have remembered it. Alex curses himself as every kind of fool for not having a contingency plan in place with the kids. He just never expected anything like _this_ to happen.

He takes care to travel through every back-alley shortcut he knows. New Delphi’s unsavory characters haven’t come after him again, but Alex wouldn’t put it past them to try a second time should they randomly cross paths. Luckily, white spray-painted wings are his only companions through the entirety of his journey. 

The entrance is a storm drain that’s had the concrete mouth broken open. Not very secretive, but the sewer network is a veritable maze, which serves as its own defense. Only the oldest of his orphans and those from his own generation remember the safe places beneath the streets. It’s been _that long_ since these subterranean havens have been needed, and it grates that they have become necessary again.

Lowering himself down beneath the street takes some painful contortion, but Alex manages it all right. Immediately, the stink of damp mold and stale air floods his nostrils, and it throws him back into vivid memories of when he and Ethan had to sleep here, clutching each other to fight off the bone-deep chill. When Alex finally locates one of their foxholes, he is both relieved and heartbroken to see the nest his kids have made from scavenged crates and dirty blankets. 

There are eight of them camping down here in total. Sophia, thankfully unharmed, runs over to latch onto his arm and proceeds to drag him over to the rest. Jonathan, one of the eldest, stands to meet him. 

“Alex, you’re alive!” Alex is touched by the genuine relief conveyed in Jonathan’s voice, and claps him on the shoulder. He’s done well, after all.

“Good to see you, Jonathan. How’s everything going down here, and do you have any word from the others? Who are our injured?” Alex casts a glance around the tunnel that lands on four unfamiliar faces. He raises a brow. “And who do we have here?”

Jonathan follows his gaze towards the strangers. Putting his hand on Alex’s arm, Jonathan leads him to an unoccupied corner where they both sit on a half-rotted crate. Quietly, he leans in and speaks sotto voce. “We came across ‘em the other night, when everything went to shit. By the looks of it, they came over with the New Delphi crowd and didn’t have anywhere to go.” Jonathan jerks his chin towards a shivering lump of blankets. “Caleb and Cassie vouch for them. Said they knew ‘em when they were still living in New Delphi themselves.”

Alex drags a tired hand down his face, because _fucking New Delphi_ , before returning his stare to the two bundled children. “What’s wrong with them?”

Jonathan looks down and shrugs. “They have a fever, and won’t stop coughing. For awhile they were spitting up black stuff, but at least that’s stopped. We’re trying to keep them as warm as we can, but it seems different from a cold. I don’t know what’s wrong with them.” He peers up at Alex with poorly-concealed worry. “Can you find a doctor?”

Alex’s brow furrows in concern. “What about Elena over on East Twain Avenue? She did fine when Aidan broke his arm, didn’t she?” 

“Dead in the riots. And her daughter. I can’t find anyone else that knows about medicine.” 

His chest clenches at Jonathan’s words. Elena was the only person with any medical experience that would help V1’s in exchange for trade goods or services, rather than credits. She was training her daughter, Adeline, who was very well-loved by his orphans. “Are you sure they’re dead? Maybe they went underground?”

Jonathan let a bitter laugh. “I was the one who found their bodies, so yeah. Pretty fucking sure.” 

“Shit, Jonathan…” Alex’s voice fell away when no appropriate words would come to mind. What could he possibly say?

“They hanged them in the street, you know. All the people we used to trade with, I mean.” Dark fear imbeds itself in the youthful curves of Jonathan’s face. “They had these signs hung around their necks calling them hoarders and ‘Thieves of Plenty’. Alex, what’s happening?” 

Alex opens his mouth, but no answer is forthcoming. Alex doesn’t quite have the big picture yet, but he has the sinking feeling that something truly horrific is at work. “We’ll figure it out.” He stands, and Jonathan does the same. Alex pulls Jonathan into a one-armed embrace. “I’ll find some medicine and bring it back here. Just… stay off the asphalt for a while until things calm down. How much food do you need down here?”

“We should be fine for a week, actually. If you find the others, they may need it more than us.”

Surprised, Alex releases him and gives him a searching look. “Where did you get the supplies? I thought everything… burned.” The pain of losing a home is reflected on both of their faces. Jonathan shifts nervously to the balls of his feet.

“Look, don’t be mad. We needed the food, and they’ve been helping us because of Aidan, and Ethan said it was okay—“

“Whoa, it’s okay, you did well.” He and Ethan would definitely have a chat soon, and what the hell did Aidan do _this time_? “Who have been helping you?”

“The black acolytes… Alex?” Jonathan stares up at him with imploring eyes. Blindsided, all Alex can do is look back at him. Because, _really_? The angel cult? Of all the answers he was dreading, Alex didn’t even see this one waiting in the wings. These zealots, while somewhat known in the V1 circles, were still a secretive bunch. How the fuck did his kids get mixed up with the crazies?

After a long moment of gathering his stalled thoughts, Alex weakly responds. “That’s… that’s just fine, Jonathan. Do they know about this place?” 

An indignant expression crosses Jonathan’s visage. “Of course not!” he hisses like an angry cat. “I’m the only one who has contact with them, and I only accept the sealed food packets. I don’t trust them enough to bring them here, even to treat Caleb and Cassie, so… I’m really hoping you can get some? If they don’t get better soon, we may not have a choice.” 

_And that’s the rub, isn’t it?_ Alex thinks to himself. _We may not have a choice._ Here he stands in front of a mirror image of himself, frustrated beyond measure that someone Jonathan’s age should have earned the instinctual knowledge of survival. 

“You did the right thing. Don’t worry, I’ll find a way to help them.” A twinge of guilt tugs at Alex’s heart at making such a risky promise, but the relief on Jonathan’s face is worth it. He wanders over to Caleb and Cassie to ask about their symptoms and spends some time with Sophia. Alex also makes a point to introduce himself to the new kids, who are about as skittish and aggressively mistrustful as he was expecting. 

All too soon, it’s time for him to leave again, before he’s truly missed at the hospital. The ache in his side returns with a vengeance once he climbs up through the storm drain onto the asphalt. He puts a few backstreets between himself and the tunnels before Alex crouches on the ground and wraps his arms around his abdomen. 

He just needs a moment to _breathe_. 

How can so much change happen overnight? One day, he and Ethan are finally climbing their way out of the hole they’ve dug for themselves, and the next day they’re back to square one. All V1 trade is disrupted for the near future, their orphans are either sick or _missing_ , they have an _asshole_ with a grudge trying his damnedest to murder them (fuck you very much, New Delphi), and four more mouths to feed on top of everything else. 

These new kids couldn’t have come at a worse time. By Alex’s best guess, they can’t be much older than seven years, which means he and Ethan will be locked into caring for them for almost another _decade_. So much for backing off on the risks of thieving and scavenging. At this rate, he and Ethan will _never_ be free of this.

For the first time in his life, Alex seriously thinks about turning them away. He’s already done his part, and he’s getting tired. Why can’t it be someone _else’s_ turn? Why must it always be him and Ethan?

In the end, he knows he won’t. He _can’t_ , and Alex knows beyond the shadow of a doubt that Ethan can’t either. It’s not by any fault of the children, and he doesn’t blame them in the slightest. It’s just...the hits keep on coming. What a miserable pit he’s thrown himself and his brother into. There’s always going to be more orphans. Every time he and Ethan start to see a way out, something happens to drag them back down. It’s a vicious cycle, and he’s trapped them both.

There will _never_ be an end to it. 

Alex’s thoughts are interrupted by a wake of air infused with the tawny scent of feathers rolling over him. A long shadow stretches across the ground before him, shifting as wings are tucked into an unseen pocket of space. Michael’s voice breaks the silence in the alley, empty but for the two of them. 

“You should be healing in a bed right now, rather than kneeling on the ground in agony. This will only make you worse.” Skin meets skin as the archangel places a large hand on the back of Alex’s bowed neck. 

It is the gentlest touch he’s ever received from Michael, and it takes everything in him not to lean into it. He’s barely able to breathe out a sarcastic, “I figured a stroll would be good for my health.”

Alex tilts his head up to glance at the archangel, squinting against the sunlight pouring over the leather-clad shoulder. Michael’s lips twitch into a soft impression of a smile at the joke. “I see. What has you strolling so far away from the medical center?” 

All of the blood drains from Alex’s face, and he does his best to paste on his most amiable, nonchalant expression. He goes very still despite his racing thoughts. Would it really be such a bad thing to tell Michael about his orphans hiding in the sewer? It would cost them their safe-house, sure, but if he begged enough, he could probably move the archangel enough to find a doctor for Cassie and Caleb. Maybe find them some housing…

Maybe make them sitting ducks for DeMark. _Again._ Not to mention the awkward questions that would be asked about how Ethan and Alex supported them all these years. Both him and his brother would be exposed as the thieves they are, and then cast into Vega’s stinking prison. He won’t risk Ethan like that. Not even for orphans.

Either way, he’s apparently taken too long to answer. Smile sliding off of his face, Michael’s grip tightens painfully on the nape of Alex’s neck. Wincing, Alex is swiftly pulled to his feet, and forcefully tugged into the archangel’s chest. The sudden straightening of his body makes his injury flare up in pain, stealing the strength from his legs. Slumping forward against Michael’s chest, Alex becomes acutely aware of the curve of the archangel’s muscles. Body heat swaps between their torsos, flesh separated by nothing more than the thin cotton of their shirts.

Alex dares to enjoy the arm that is wrapped around his waist right up until the moment Michael unfurls his dark wings. A sweet and flowery scent bursts into existence, and Alex catches a noseful of Becca Thorne’s perfume of choice. Night Orchid, if he correctly remembers what Ethan calls it. It had always been a very popular fragrance on the black market, and the Thorne compound was an easy source. 

At the first powerful wingstroke, Alex quickly brings his own arms up along Michael’s back to grip his shoulders. Michael’s arms press their bodies flush together. Burying his face in the crook of the archangel’s neck, Alex spends the entire flight back to the hospital breathing in the presence of Becca Thorne. All over Michael’s feathers…

He squeezes his eyes shut, lips twisting in some combination of woe and disgust. He let _her_ touch his _wings_. She probably spent hours preening his feathers for her scent to be so apparent. Alex’s fingers dig into the tendons when he clenches his hands in anger. She gets to touch his wings every night, whenever she wants, for as long as she want, and she probably doesn’t even have to _ask_. He had to be dying for the same privilege.

He grinds his teeth together, because _fuck this_. 

Their landing is jarring, and Alex leaps away from Michael as soon as his feet hit pavement. Just barely keeps his knees from buckling. His eyes are glued to the pavement, but his peripheral vision catches sight of Michael reaching forward to steady him and the hesitation before contact is made. As soon as the archangel’s fingers brush his arm, Alex jerks backwards out of reach. Before he realizes what he’s doing, he spits out a vicious “Don’t touch me! I can smell her all over you!” 

The words are cast between them, and they stare at each other, frozen. Both of them seem shocked at the words—this is the first time either of them has directly referenced their silent war. 

For an instant, Alex thinks of taking his words back. Knows he sounds like a wife accusing her husband of infidelity. Except… he’s just _done_ with this. He’s not going to pretend any more that there wasn’t something building between them! And he wants, desperately, for Michael to acknowledge it too. Even if it means nothing ever comes of it, even if they’re done forever—he’s tired of _this_ , and _him_ , being ignored. 

He wets his lips. Prompts again. “Do you have _anything_ to say about that? Michael?!” Michael’s eyes are oddly wide, and vulnerability is written all over his posture. Alex watches as Michael parts his mouth… holds his breath for the words.

Steel shutters seem to slam shut behind the archangel’s gaze. Michael’s body straightens to military perfection, and resolution settles on his face. “I don’t see how that would be any business of yours.”

Alex’s shoulders fall along with his eyes. He feels something crumble and break away in his soul. Dimly aware, he distantly hears Michael continue, “I would also suggest you refrain from making such implications about a Vega Senator. Others might mistake—“

“You’ve got some fucking nerve.” Dead silence. “Even after—even after the other day, when you took my hand—“

“You were _dying_. And I thought…” Michael’s voice trails off slightly, and seems to be on the brink of saying something honest. The moment passes, though, and he gathers himself back up behind his ironclad mask of indifference.

Alex huffs in disbelief. He looks Michael dead in the eyes, and glares for all he’s worth. “If you want to pretend like this isn’t happening, then go right ahead—but it makes you a liar, and a _coward_. You want your senator? Fine. Take your senator and ride her straight to hell.” Alex spins on his heel and marches into the hospital. 

Yells over his shoulder, “ _And_ her shitty perfume!” The sound of flight is the only response Michael gives. Which is fucking peachy, because Alex is done with this, anyway. 

His anger is quick to disintegrate on the way back to his designated room, and gives way to exhaustion. Alex almost manages to sneak in unnoticed, but runs afoul of his doctor just shy of the bed. He gets the stern talking-to, as expected, but also gets blindsided by his sense of humor, which less than expected. It’s a nice distraction.

Doc’s name is Jeffrey, and he knows every nasty angel joke _ever made_. Shouting at the archangel in public grabbed the entire staff’s attention, along with Jeffrey’s respect. They get to talking as he ushers Alex back into bed, and gives him a cursory check-over. 

“So what happened that you took your life into your hands by yelling at the Archangel? Not that I didn’t enjoy the show, of course—stop fidgeting, and let me look!” Alex sighed, and ceased his game of keep-away between Jeffrey’s hands and his bandaged side. 

“I told him he smelled really bad, ” Alex flippantly replied, “and he took exception.” 

The doctor let out a short laugh. “Did you now? Because what I heard eavesdropping from that open window--the one right over there, in fact--sounded more like a lover’s quarrel than anything else.” Jeffrey gave him a pointed glance. “That is usually the way of it, when Michael is involved.” Peeling back the gauze, the doctor prods at the red flesh underneath. Alex twitches in sync. “This is healing nicely, Lannon.” Tossing the old bandages out, he fishes for a tube of something-or-other in a nearby drawer. Smears a liberal dollop onto the wound, and an immediate cooling sensation permeates Alex’s inflamed skin. Jeffrey keeps talking as he re-tapes everything up. 

“I don’t know what’s going on between you two, but Michael doesn’t put just any soldier in my hospital wing. Though, I admit, he does have a weakness for beautiful things...women in particular.” He watches Alex’s expression like a hawk when he says this, gauging his reaction. Try as he may, Alex suspects the doctor saw what he was looking for, if the growing sympathy on his face was any indication. How long had the guy known Michael, to get such a close read on the situation?

“Evidently,” he bites out. 

Jeffrey smirks, and he leans in closer. “What does Michael have in common with sex on a bridge?” Alex gives a perplexed look at the most outlandish question in the universe. 

“I don’t know, what?”

Jeffrey shoots him a wicked grin, and answers, “They’re both fucking over everyone.” Laughter hasn’t come this easily for Alex in a long time, and his belly shakes from the force of it, aggravating his injury. 

He barks out some jumbled swear words in his delight. “Holy shit, where did that even come from? Fucking hell, man! You could get in serious trouble for that!” 

The doctor just chuckles, and tells him not to worry. “I’ve known Michael a long while. Since he built up Vega, in fact. I don’t think he’ll be throwing me in gaol anytime soon. At least, not over a joke, anyway. So, did he steal her from you, or are you trying to steal her from him?” 

Alex stares at him in amusement and confusion. He liked the doc’s terrific humor, but who accented the word ‘jail’ like that anymore? How old was this guy, anyway? “It doesn’t matter now, actually. It’s over. Besides, who said anything about a girl? Maybe I’m pissed because he stole my cat.”

“If you had a cat, there would be fur all over you. Even in as sterile environment as this, it would be everywhere. But fine, so there’s no ladylove.” Again, with the _look_. “That only leaves one other set of options.”

Alex flinches. “No comment. I think I’d like to sleep now.” 

Jeffrey gives him sympathetic smile. “Of course. Will you stop wandering off, then?” 

“I might be persuaded to stay in bed if you bring me some of that lime jello I smell. I’m betting my outing overlapped with lunch?” He shoots the medic a hopeful glance.

Jeffrey looked at him curiously. “We ran out of lime jello yesterday afternoon. You can smell it?” 

Alex cocks his head to side. “Don’t you?”

The doctor’s eyes shoot down to look at his wrapped wound, speculation dancing behind his irises. “No, I can’t smell that.” He shrugs. “You’ve just woken up from an eight day coma, your senses should be elevated. They’ll level out soon enough.”

Staring at Jeffrey, Alex asks, “…Is that normal?”

“Of course.”

Alex nods his head. Of course he’s lying. 

They exchange their goodbyes, and Alex sinks down into the mattress, drowsy from the exertion of the day. _Eight day coma_ finally starts to sink in. It’s only the afternoon, and still he feels like he could sleep away a year. Alex realizes that he shouldn’t have been able to get across town, let alone smell yesterday’s jello… it’s the least of his concerns, though. He’s already drowning in the negatives, so he might as well enjoy the positive where he can find it. As long as it doesn’t cause any real trouble, Alex is content to ignore it for now.

He idly strokes his palm over the gauze covering his healing wound, distracting himself. Richard DeMark may have given him this scar, but it’s Michael he’ll always associate with it. It’s a painful reminder of a friendship betrayed. A brutal denial of the first stirring of feelings.

The one and only memory he will ever have regarding the softness of Michael’s wings.

He’ll never let himself surrender to Michael’s siren call again, he thinks to himself. Sleep beckons, and he’s so very tired.

**He’s able to find a small number of his group clinging to each other and still afloat not to far from them. Their heads are barely visible above the gentle waves, but at least Alex has his eyes on them. Two of them are sick and shivering, but it’s something.**

**EthanandAlex are taken by surprise when a new swimmer comes into their line of sight. He’s a liar, but a funny liar. Alex idly wonders if there are sea creatures with human faces.**


End file.
